Macy
by Nicole Harpe
Summary: Sam leaps into a counselor at a 1950s Tuberculosis Sanitorium. He needs Al's help to fulfill two missions. Back at the Project, Ziggy is creating trouble for the Admiral that will change his life forever.
1. Chapter 1

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter One**

Admiral Al Calavicci thundered down the Imaging Chamber ramp. Gooshie, Quantum Leap's resident computer genius was in for a tongue lashing, the kind that only a career military man, a three star Admiral, could deliver. Usually, the Admiral ditched the handlink on the computer console, but today he kept it. The squealing box of M&Ms was malfunctioning big time and it had to be fixed - now

Furious eyes and an index finger herded Gooshie and his team into the elevator and up to the small conference room. Dr. Verbena Beeks, the Project's Medical Director and Psychiatrist was already waiting for them. News of the Admiral's rage already spread to her office and she figured a little support for all involved wouldn't hurt. The trio sat down at the oak table and watched their leader pace the habitual four steps forward and four steps back. The handlink was tossed unceremoniously in front of them. They watched him, fearful of the chewing out they were going to receive. Most people wouldn't take seriously the ranting of a man wearing royal blue trousers, a white and silver banded-color shirt and blue suspenders studded with buttons of every color under the sun, but this group knew better. Al stopped his pacing, turned and loudly threw both hands knuckles down onto the table. He leaned into them. "Alright, who has an explanation?"

Gooshie looked at his Chief Engineer Lillian Zaeger, Lillian looked at Gooshie and then the two of them looked at Verbena. She was as lost as the Admiral was and indicated so with a shrug. Gooshie finally mumbled, "We aren't sure. I think there's a glitch in Ziggy's programming."

Al glared at him, "And who is responsible for programming Ziggy?" Gooshie wanted to slide under the table. "Gooshie, you got an answer for me?"

The frightened programmer stuttered, "Ziggy isn't like other computers, Admiral. She ... she has a mind of her own and sometimes she does things on her own."

"Meaning what?"

The programmer gulped Loud enough for the room to hear. Lillian decided to come to his aid, "Admiral, about six weeks ago, we discovered that Ziggy was programming herself. The last upgrade gave her more fuzzy logic properties than she was designed to handle and now we're having trouble reining her in."

Al wasn't sure how to receive that information. It wasn't what he expected or wanted to hear. He looked to Verbena, "Alright. Why is Ziggy's new found talent screwing up the handlink? It took me thirty five minutes to program my way out of the Imaging Chamber." Lillian and Gooshie looked blank. "Find out now." No one moved. "Do you know what 'now' means? Out!" Verbena kept her seat as Lillian and Gooshie, like a pair of whipped puppies, made their way out of the room stopping only to pick up the malfunctioning handlink. When they had left, Al turned to Verbena, "Geniuses. They're like children."

Verbena reminded him, "Admiral, I think we tested your IQ at 167, didn't we?"

Yeah, so he was smart, a genius on anyone's scale, but he didn't like people knowing. He dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Don't push it, Verbena." The handlink was too important. "You don't know what this means."

"Then tell me."

"If the handlink fails when I'm in the Imaging Chamber, I can't get Sam the information he needs and sometimes he needs it immediately."

"Did something happen?"

Al finally sat down and the anger that kept his adrenaline in gear for their little meeting drained itself from his body. Suddenly he looked very tired. The rush was definitely over. He shook his head and rubbed his clammy hands together, "It was close, Verbena. Another 30 seconds and Sam would have been dead. He was driving a race car. Thank God, he listens to me once in awhile. I know cars. He managed to follow my lead, but Ziggy could have helped a lot."

"You look exhausted. When did you eat last?"

Shaking his head Al answered, "Yesterday, maybe. This leap was a hard one. A lot of lives were in jeopardy. Sam would have blamed himself, even if it was all Ziggy's fault."

Al was a master manipulator, but Verbena didn't want to change the subject, "Back to you, Admiral. You need some food and sleep. You're growing great big bags under your eyes and they're not attractive."

A sigh escaped from Al, "You're so good for my ego." Then he laughed. "I guess I haven't slept much during this leap."

"Then I'm _prescribing _bed rest and food. You're on the injured reserve list as of now. I'm Medical Director here and with medical decisions, my word supersedes yours."

Al smiled at her, "Yeah, well, that's how it works on paper, but I'm the only person who can reach Sam. That supersedes us both. From how I feel, this is going to be a short stasis period. He's going to leap within 24 hours and I have two reports to complete or our funding may be cut. Now you tell me, how can I get sleep?"

It was an old discussion, one they had time and time again. The answer seemed apparent to Verbena, "So, I'll recommend it again. Hire an assistant. Someone you can trust, certainly, but get help. You can't be all things to all people." Al shrugged. "You're not listening to me. Quite honestly, you don't look well. Your color is gray. In fact, this is a directive. You will have a physical before you go back into the Imaging Chamber. I'm pulling rank here, Admiral. In fact, Isao probably has time for you now."

The pained look on his face was almost comical. Al hated doctors, physical exams and most everything medical. "Don't do this to me. If you think I need rest, then let me go to bed. I'll even go alone" He winked and smiled knowing his last comment would annoy the psychiatrist just enough to make her blush, but not enough to make her angry.

Verbena ignored his never ending flirtations especially since he was devoted to his wife more than any many could be devoted to a wife. "A physical won't take long. I tell you what. I'll make an appointment for you in two hours. You can relax a little, get some food, take a shower, whatever your little heart desires, but at 3:30, you are at the Infirmary."

She actually expected more of a fight. This time he merely sighed and acquiesced, "Alright." He stood up and yawned, "I got to get some sleep." He left Verbena at the table and took off at a clip for his quarters.

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He arrived at the rooms in less than two minutes. He had been kicked around from one place to another most of his life; so, from his perspective getting attached to furniture was unrealistic and basically silly. Living space was never very important, but his wife and children seemed to like things homey instead of spare. Now that everyone was out east visiting Grandma Waterston, he had the place to himself and it felt incredibly empty. Beth left the refrigerator packed with instant meals. She knew her husband well. Without her being there to nag at him, eating would be considered too time consuming. There was a small container of frozen spaghetti with Bolognese sauce in the freezer. He pulled it out, left it on the counter and traipsed to the bedroom for a nap.

True to form, Al hung his clothes neatly in his closet. After his eight years in Vietnam as a prisoner, and only having his flight suit to wear for all that time, clothes were a luxury he enjoyed and cared for. The clock radio was set for 2:30 and he lay down. In less than a minute, he was asleep.

The alarm was set to wake him to music. His favorite station played oldies from the late 50's through the 60's, so it was a crapshoot as to what would greet him. Today, the radio blasted, "Like a true nature's child, we were born, born to be wild. We can fly so high. I never want to die . . ." Al slapped at the off button. "Damn, that's Loud." He muttered, "And thinking that song is too loud means I'm old. Oh well." His first waking moments were not some of his better ones, but he rolled out of bed and into the shower. His wet curly hair fell in rings as he wrapped his terry cloth robe around him and made his way to the kitchen to throw the spaghetti into the microwave. Wandering back to the bedroom, he opened the closet door and decided on something very basic - chocolate brown tweed wool suit with a waist length jacket worn over a rust colored silk t-shirt. After drying his hair, which was in need of a trim (it took far too much time to minimize the curls), he dressed and tied his two toned wingtips.

By 3:25, lunch was eaten, the dishes washed and put away. He was the ultimate neat freak. It bordered on a compulsion for him, but he figured there were worse things in life. His other compulsion was timeliness. If Admiral Calavicci was expected at 3:30 you could set your watch by his arrival.

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Captain Isao Watanabe, MD put Al through the drill. Every imaginable test was given. Never the best patient, after Isao sucked up a third vial of blood Al snapped, "What are you, a vampire?"

Al didn't hear Verbena enter the room behind him.

"There aren't any vampires in Japan. We have Godzilla." Isao smiled. In the Infirmary, he was in control of the Admiral and he enjoyed it. Isao place a band-aid on the needle site and said, "Step on the scale, please." Al didn't bother to kick off his shoes. He wanted the extra few ounces they added. It took a little bit of fussing with the counter weights. Isao expected Al to tip the scales at 142 pounds as he had two months earlier, but Al dropped some much needed muscle mass. "Admiral, you've lost seven pounds. 135 pounds is not enough for a man your height and frame." Then he looked down, "and I should take a couple of pounds off for your clothes and shoes."

Al tried to cover, "Less stress on the heart and, as you so often remind me, I'm over 60."

"You have to supplement your regular diet and not forget to eat."

"I ate before I got here." He was ready to blow the joint, "Are we done? I have things to do."

Verbena decided to speak up, "How is he, Isao?"

The physician started talking about Al as if he wasn't there, "Basically, he's in good shape. I don't have the results of the blood work yet, but all in all he looks okay. I think what we got going on here is exhaustion and if he keeps it up, he could end up with big trouble."

"Like what?"

Al knew the conversation was a performance, but he let them continue. "Take your pick, Verbena. Impaired immunity, fatigue. He's bordering on that now, I think. Then there's decreased libido."

Now he had to stop it, "Alright, alright. Stop the tap dance. I get the hint. Eat more, sleep more, work less. Fine. Now which one of you is going to write my reports? Verbena, do you want to work on the system upgrades for Ziggy? I mean I'd be happy to let you, but only Sam and I neurologically interface with her."

Verbena shook her head, "Al, no one is telling you to stop working. You just need help on the administrative end. Your time is too important to be spending it writing reports. Get an assistant. You've managed to get extra help for every department here. Why not administration? With an aide, you can spend the time you need with Sam and Ziggy and have the time you need to take care of yourself."

Al had been balled out by the best, (Reverend Mother Theodora came to mind) but it had been years. He knew Verbena spoke sense. The problem was finding someone he trusted, someone who knew the machinations of Washington, and someone who could clear the intense security Project Quantum Leap demanded. "Okay. I'll start looking for an aide. If I'm through here, I can make a couple of calls now."

Isao raised his eyebrows, "I'm done. There's no need for you to wait for the results of the blood work. I can let you know when it comes back. Should be a couple of hours."

He took his jacket off its hanger and slipped it on, "Good. I'll be in my office." They glared at him. With as much sarcasm as he could muster he added, "Eating chocolates and napping. Good-bye." He stepped quickly out of the Infirmary and practically bolted to his office. Once an idea crossed his mind, he had to act on it. There was a kid, well he wouldn't be a kid anymore, someone who fit the bill and last he heard he was not connected to much - Jude Brandeis. It would only take a few phone calls to clear him. Yeah, Brandeis was a good kid, the perfect man for the job.

The first call confirmed that Brandeis had maintained top security clearance. He was now a Captain stationed in Houston, working with NASA. The second call to Houston gave Al more information. Jude was recently divorced. His only child, a son, was an ensign stationed in Hawaii and the Captain wanted out of NASA since his ex also worked there. It was almost too good to be true. Al decided to skip the rest of the regular channels for his information and talk to the source. He found the phone number, but it was only 5:45. Chances were better that Jude would be home in an hour or more. That would give Al time to finish those waiting reports. He flipped on his computer terminal, loaded the documents and started to write.

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Lillian and Gooshie had the handlink in pieces on the console in the Command Room. Lillian was examining hardware circuits. "Gooshie, everything is fine here. The architecture is not the problem. It has to be the programming." She started to reassemble the unit.

Gooshie turned to the computer, "Ziggy, what happened today? Why couldn't the Admiral get out of the Imaging Chamber?" The computer didn't answer. "Ziggy, tell me what happened?"

In a wooden voice Ziggy responded, "Admiral Calavicci did not input the proper sequence for egress. Until the proper code is input into the handlink, I cannot allow anyone in or out of the Imaging Chamber."

The engineers looked at each other. Lillian spoke, "She doesn't sound like our Ziggy. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know." He turned his attention to the computer again, "Ziggy, what was wrong with the Admiral's code?"

"Admiral Calavicci was unable to complete the code according to his own predetermined sequencing. It is my responsibility to maintain the security of the Project."

In a weary voice Lillian answered, "But it was the Admiral. He has top security clearance."

"Security must be maintained regardless the level of clearance."

A million questions and concerns flashed into Lillian's and Gooshie's minds. Ziggy was not acting right at all.

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Al's reports to the Pentagon were complete. As he ran a spell check on the documents, he decided to try Brandeis. They met years earlier when Al had returned from Vietnam. Jude accompanied the injured pilot from Japan to San Diego. The young, naive Ensign befriended the battered Lieutenant and small acts of kindness were never forgotten by the grateful former prisoner of war. The phone was dialed and after two rings a voice said, "Hello?"

"Jude? This is Al Calavicci."

Jude Brandeis was surprised and pleased to hear the graveled voice. He liked Al Calavicci the first instant they met and since then, the superior officer was always there to provide a boost to the younger man's career. "Admiral, it's good to hear from you. How are you doing? I hear you got another star."

"Yeah, you'd think they'd learn. Hey, I heard you got divorced. Sorry, kid."

The Admiral still called him "kid" and it seemed right coming from him. "Yeah, the second time. I don't know how and Dr. Calavicci do it."

Al laughed, "You got to remember to have fun, lots and lots of fun."

"Fun is a good thing. I haven't had much lately."

"I know, kid, I know." They spent about fifteen minutes telling tales of their current lives, though Al had to be spare in details. Finally he got around to the point of his call, "Listen, I'd like to talk with you in person when you have the chance. I have an idea I'd like you to consider."

"Sure, Admiral."

"Are you ever going to call me Al?"

Jude laughed at the reference. "Oh, I doubt it, Admiral." For years Al had tried to get the lower ranking officer to call him by his first name, but protocol was ingrained in career military types to the point where Jude probably considered "Admiral" Al's true first name.

"Figures," Al bemoaned. "Jude, I need you here at my project. You willing to be transferred out of NASA?"

Jude thought for a moment, "Considering I share office space with my ex, I think a transfer would be a good thing."

"I want you here tomorrow. I'll call the SecNav and have you transferred immediately."

Jude had forgotten how much he liked Al. The three star Vice Admiral had no concerns about dealing with authority. It often made Jude wonder how he made Admiral. "Immediately?"

"Yeah. Pack a suitcase and we'll have your house packed up and brought over."

"Damn, Admiral. You packing that kind of clout now?"

"Always did, Jude."

The two passed a few more pleasantries and then said goodbye. Al was happy to hear the eagerness in Jude's voice. He had always liked the kid who was one of the few good things to greet him when he returned from Vietnam in 1975. Back during that terrible and wonderful March, in a few days, in a few brief meetings, they formed a bond of friendship and trust.

Al checked the time - 8:15. It was time for more food. He felt hungry. The commissary would be open as it always was. The Project kept odd hours and food was a necessity throughout the days and nights. Before Al left his office, he gave the computer commands to print out a hard copy for him and email copies to the appropriate Washington offices. Before he left the spare looking office, he grabbed a maintenance report to read, turned out the lights and made his way toward the plastic food waiting for him at the commissary.

The dinner choices were pretty sad. After looking over the options, he decided on something that on a better day might have passed for a turkey burger. He sat down, opened the report and started in on the dry reading and dryer bread. After two bites, he threw out the pasty sandwich. The rest of dinner - a piece of limp lettuce, two slices of under ripe tomato and a sorry piece of watermelon - remained on his plate looking very sad.

The Admiral's ability to focus was legendary. When he read, almost nothing could distract him. He liked reading things in totality at one sitting. Verbena challenged his retention, once. While not photographic like his pal Sam, Al's superior memory was well in keeping with his superior mind.

Verbena knew interrupting Al in the middle of his reading was not the sort of thing he enjoyed, but she had to see him and you got Al when you found Al. She pulled out the chair across from him. "It's good to see you eating. I'm very proud of you."

Al gave her a comical sneer and certainly did not admit to throwing away three fourths of his food, "Don't be cute. To what do I owe the honor of your company? I can't imagine that you're here for dinner this late."

A bag of lemon drops was pulled from her soft-sided briefcase. "These are for you." He looked at her not having to use words to ask the question. "Because we got the results of your blood work. You're hypoglycemic and it's bordering on the dangerous level."

A little shrug and an "Okay," was the only response he gave.

"That's it? Okay? Don't you want to know the particulars?"

"Low blood sugar. Eat lemon drops when I feel tired."

"It's more than that, Admiral. Hypoglycemia can be very dangerous, as in life threatening. You need to learn about the symptoms and what to do." She pulled a book from the same briefcase the candy came from. "You want to hear?" The disinterest on his face was evident, but she turned to the page marked with a torn slip of paper. "Here are some of the things you can look forward to if you're not careful. Sweating, nervousness, tremors, fainting, heart palpitations, confusion, visual disturbances, stupor, coma and seizures." Verbena wasn't sure Al was listening. "Al, look at me. You have to pay attention to this. This is serious. Sometimes you're in the Imaging Chamber 12 or 14 hours. That's when you'll have to be especially careful. I want to put juice boxes and some good carbohydrates in there. We can put them in the cabinet in the washroom. Okay?"

Al took a bite of tomato. He barely reacted. A simple, "Okay," was all he gave her.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, it's not that big a deal, Verbena. I drink juice. I eat crackers. I carry lemon drops. So? What's the big concern? It's something I can control."

Verbena was getting angry now, "Isao wants you back at the Infirmary tomorrow morning. He has to figure out _why _you're hypoglycemic. There are more tests in store for you." She got a reaction from him. "I thought _that _might get a rise out of you. He wants to do some screening."

"For what?"

"Some nasty things. Are you going to listen this time?" He sighed. "I'll take that as a yes. Sometimes no cause can be found, but it could be the result of benign tumors, liver disease, autoimmune system problems and the worst possible scenario, cancer." His eyes ultimately met hers. "Finally, I have your attention. The chances of cancer are very small. Isao thinks it's idiopathic, that he'll find no reason except your lifestyle and eating habits, but he has to check."

Al had to take a deep breath. He recalled his years of alcohol abuse. "Liver disease or cancer. Well, you've made my evening."

"Really, the chances are very small that Isao will come up with anything. I just wanted you to recognize that hypoglycemia can be dangerous. You have to watch your diet carefully. You have to eat regular meals with plenty of carbohydrates and unlike the rest of us you should eat some sugar every day. Isao can give you better instructions on diet."

There are things no one ever needs to hear in his life. Being hypoglycemic wasn't the end of the world, but it was just one more thing to contend with. He picked up the bag of lemon drops, "So I eat one of these when I feel light-headed, right?"

"No, you eat more like four or five. Maybe even a couple more. Another option is to carry sugar cubes and chomp on some of those."

Al grimaced, "That sounds tooth destroying."

"So, brush your teeth."

He finally laughed, "I knew there was a reason I liked you," and he slipped the lemon drops into his pocket.

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	2. Chapter 2

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Two**

Al and Verbena continued talking for another two hours. The time went by fast as they spoke of all sorts of things from the Project, to cars, to past school experiences, to nonsense. Finally Al's favorite subject was opened. "I will never understand what I did right to have Beth in my life. She saved my sorry ass more times than she knows."

"How did she do that?"

It was pretty much one kind of incident, but played over and over again for eight long years. He hated the agonizing memories of his terror-filled days in captivity. Just the mention of them brought back a recollection of some incident or another where he was brought to the edge of death. "Beth was the reason I decided to stay alive in Vietnam."

"You could decide to stay alive?"

He knew Verbena was playing shrink games now. "Yes, Dr. Beeks. Each time I saw her face and heard her voice in my head, I would decide to stay alive. Beth gave me a chance to come home instead of die." A deep breath was audibly exhaled. "I guess I was lucky that the Cong wanted to torture me instead of just execute me."

She noticed the Admiral's right hand quietly run along the edge of a ridged scar on his left wrist. It was an unconscious movement he made virtually every time the subject of Vietnam came up. The scar was only one of dozens that still marked his body. She wanted him to talk to her about his experiences. It wasn't voyeurism. Verbena just wanted to help control his PTSS, a situation that had recently become more difficult. Trying to get him to open up she said, "That's the kind of luck no one should have to be grateful for."

But the Admiral wasn't ready to open up and with Sam in a leap, even if he was ready, the priority was Sam. His psychological crap wasn't going anywhere. It could wait. "Nice try, Beans. No shrink stuff tonight. I was just telling you how much I loved my wife. Take that for what it is."

She blushed a bit. "You always catch me when I try to get into that . . ." She paused to find the right word. "Peculiar brain of yours."

His heavy eyebrows rose. "Peculiar?"

More blood rushed to her cheeks. "Particular maybe?"

He'd had his fun. Time to get Verbena off the hook. "Peculiar is probably closer to the truth."

There was no reason for her to pursue the subject. She had shoved her dainty foot far beyond her front teeth. "Anyhow, when is Beth coming home from her mother's?"

"She and Allie are staying are staying at Mom's an extra night and flying home in the morning. I can't wait to see them."

"It must be lonely with Beth and Allie both away."

"But they're coming home." A smile crossed his face. It was pure contentment and bliss. "Now tell me, do you know anyone who has more perfect daughters than I?"

Laughing and shaking her head, Verbena had to agree. "You got four of the most perfect children on the face of the earth. God knows, you tell us that often enough."

"Children need to be the most perfect in their parents' eyes. Don't have them if you don't think so. Same thing with grandchildren. You know my boys are perfect too, right?"

Verbena knew the three grandchildren were lovely young boys. She delighted in Al's characterization of them as perfect. One of the twins was born with cerebral palsy and had problems walking. That disability didn't make the boy any less perfect to his Gramps. "Yes, Admiral, your grandsons are just as perfect as their mothers."

"Damn straight."

While Al was just having a nice time bragging on his kids Verbena suggested that it was time for both of them to get some sleep. "You need to make sure to get good rest. Hypoglycemia is controllable. Sleep is a big part of it."

"Yes, doctor." Al rolled it up the maintenance report he was reading earlier and stashed it in his pocket with the lemon drops. They walked to down the Project's residential wing. When they reached Verbena's rooms, Al gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, "Thanks. Not too many people care the way you do."

She knew he meant that not many had cared for _him, _but it wasn't the time to tell him how wrong he was. She smiled and silently entered her quarters. Al continued down to the end of the hall. He was feeling well, but tired, the kind of tired that meant he would be getting a good night's rest. All in all the day wasn't bad. Then he remembered Ziggy and the handlink. Before he went to sleep, he had to check on the status of the diagnostics. If he knew Lillian and Gooshie, they were still at work. When he got to his rooms, he went directly to the computer and patched into the Computer Control Room, "Anyone there?"

Lillian answered, "We're here."

"Give me a status report."

"There's not much to tell you. The handlink architecture is fine. Gooshie is working on the programming, but Ziggy isn't being cooperative. She's acting very weird."

"What does that mean?"

This time Gooshie chimed in, "Don't know yet, sir. She's programming herself to keep me out of her programming. Every time I think I have a lead, she closes it up with a new security lock. It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

Al let out a sigh of exasperation, "Do you need help? I can come down if you want me to."

Gooshie hesitated, "Well, sir, I don't know. I don't think it's necessary," and actually, the idea of Al hanging around made the programmer nervous.

While he didn't really believe Gooshie, he was relieved to be off the hook. He had no desire to go down to the Computer Control Room. Other things were on his mind. "Okay. If you want me for anything, I'm in my quarters." He terminated his contact with the Control Room, but kept Ziggy on line. "Okay, you useless hunk of silicon, tell me about hypoglycemia."

The computer's voice was unusually distant and formal. "Hypoglycemia is a metabolic disturbance inhibiting the proper manufacture and use of glycogen in the human body. It is a potentially life-threatening condition, but can be controlled with attention to diet and elimination of the underlying cause if such cause is known.

"It is a condition suffered by Admiral Albert Calavicci, Administrative Director of Project Quantum Leap. His current medical status is bordering on dangerous levels indicating that neurological difficulties are eminent if medical attention is not sought."

Al grimaced, "Have you been talking to Beeks?" He added a growl to the scowl when Ziggy used the word "suffered."

Ziggy continued uncaringly, "Ramifications of hypoglycemia include stupor, seizures, "

Interrupting the computer Al said, "I know, I know. Beeks already told me." He didn't want to ask the next question, but figured if he could ask anyone, it was Ziggy, "Am I in trouble, here?"

"Considering your dislike of medicine and medical procedures, I predict a 78.4 probability that you will not attend to your health needs and you will succumb to at least one manifestation of hypoglycemia within 96 hours."

Shaking his head, Al disagreed, "I may not like doctors, but I'm not stupid."

"It will not be a matter of stupidity. It is a matter of human error - in judgment and planning."

"What the hell does that mean?"

It took a long time for Ziggy to answer and Al was getting ticked, "Insufficient data to answer that query."

Without any ceremony at all, Al clicked off the computer monitor and decided all he needed for the time being was a little sleep. He changed out of his glen plaid suit and crawled into bed without bothering to dress. For good reason, he felt uncomfortable with the problems Ziggy was having. Things weren't hanging right with the hybrid computer. But even with all that on his mind, it didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

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Sam found himself at a desk in a small dark office. Off to the side was a stack of files. A name plate faced the chair across from him. A quick check told him he was Lucian Haller. From the look of the old typewriter and the clothes he was wearing, he figured he was back in the 50's. The files were all labeled "Chicago Metropolitan Tuberculosis Sanatorium." From the notes he gleaned that he was some kind of vocational counselor. "Oh, good, another career I have no knowledge of." He hoped that Lucian kept a calendar so he started going through the desk. Doing things like that always made him a bit voyeuristic, but it was essential that he learn as much as he could as quickly as he could.

Lucian was a methodical man. His calendar was readily available and the notations neatly printed. Things would be easy with this guy. All he needed was some idea on how to counsel people with tuberculosis about vocations. A look at his watch told him it was 4 o'clock. No appointments left in the day. He sighed relief at his good fortune. If he was lucky, no one would come by and he'd have an hour to figure out where he lived, with whom, how he got to work and all the little things that went into making the first awkward hours of each leap. If he was really lucky, Al would even show up.

Sam took Lucian' wallet from his back pocket and found a driver's license. He lived in Chicago, on Ashland Boulevard. From the pictures he found, he had a wife - a pretty brunette with dark piercing eyes, and two children. If the pictures were recent, his son Mike was about eight or nine and his daughter Macy was four or five. The boy was a dead ringer for his mother, but the little girl was a different story. She had wild curly red hair and eyes that somehow seemed very grown up for such a small child. Sam smiled at the photos. Lucian seemed like the kind of man Sam would like. It made Sam wonder what was wrong in this piece of Americana. It was time for Al.

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As per her programming, Ziggy woke Al with the news that a new inhabitant was in Sam's body. Al was needed ASAP in the Waiting Room. It was three o'clock in the morning and Al had to force himself to leave his bed, but duty called and he took another shower. He had often considered showering the second best rush a man could have. He went into his closet and pulled out a rather flamboyant outfit. He had to hide his fatigue from Verbena. He knew how he dressed was a messenger of his mood. Red leather slacks, a yellow shirt, and a red vest with thin yellow stripes found their way onto his body. He pulled a narrow red leather tie from the rack and placed the knot slightly off center. Yep, this was prime Calavicci at his most bright and happy. Now he had to figure out a way to make his face reflect the clothes.

Making his way to the Control Room, he caught himself yawning a lot. At a water fountain in the hall he splashed cold water onto his face and he continued to his destination. He damned himself for forgetting the lemon drops. Maybe a little sugar now would help.

When he entered the command station, Verbena was coming out of the Waiting Room. "You're going to like this guy, Admiral. His name is Lucian Haller. The date is July 19, 1957. He's married and has two kids. His daughter is four, so be careful. She'll able to see you."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Yeah. He's a nice man, bright, ambitious and full of ethics. Sounds like someone we know."

The reference to Sam was obvious. "Yeah, that's Sam. Where's this guy from?"

"Chicago."

Al smiled. "I like Chicago. Let's see 1957. That's the beginning of the Daley years. This could be fun. What does this guy do?"

"He's a vocational counselor at a tuberculosis sanatorium."

"Tuberculosis?"

Verbena knew Al's squeamishness, "There's nothing to worry about. He's not contagious. Go talk to him, then go see Sam."

The Waiting Room door was opened and Al ventured in to meet Lucian. A gentle smile greeted him. Al returned the smile. "Hi. Good to meet you, Lucian. I'm Al."

The visitor extended his hand, "Hello, Al. No one calls me Lucian. It's Luke."

"I know the feeling. No one calls me Albert, either."

"My best friend is named Albert, Al Romano."

"Really? I'm Italian, too. Small world." Maybe not so small, Al thought to himself. "So, you live in Chicago, huh?"

Luke started to fidget a little, "Listen, I'd love to go on talking with you, but there are some questions I have. Where the hell am I? Who the hell are you people? And you seem like a nice guy, but why are you dressed like that?"

Verbena was right. Al liked the guy and he laughed, "Sorry, Luke, but I can't answer any of those questions, especially the one about my clothes. Even I don't know the answer to that one."

Luke sat back on the elevated bed. "Well, I don't believe in extraterrestrials. Since 1940 I've either been in the Air Force or the Reserves and I haven't seen anything in the air that didn't belong there. In that case, I must be dreaming."

It was a typical response of logical people and Al never fought their willingness to believe it was all a dream. If Luke was a military man, he had a military man's mind set. Let him think he was dreaming. "Yeah, it's a dream. Time to go back to sleep. You'll wake up soon, bud. I promise you." He put his hand on the man's shoulder and then exited.

A smile was on his face. Verbena was right. He did like Luke. Back in the Command Room, Al confronted his computer geniuses, "So, is the handlink ready?"

Lillian and Gooshie glanced at each other as his twins did then they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Lillian got an embarrassed look on her face, "Al, we put it back together, but I don't trust it. In fact, I don't trust Ziggy."

The impact of her statement hit Al like a strong right hook. Ziggy wasn't right? Sam's life depended on Ziggy. His good mood was destroyed and replaced by a growing anxiety. He stared into them, "You don't trust her? What does that mean?"

Ziggy herself then got into the picture, "They are concerned that my new security measures are too sophisticated for them to program correctly."

"Are they right?"

"I cannot make that supposition."

The anger in his voice was obvious, "Ziggy, tell me. Are you going to screw things up for Sam? I got to know."

"That information is classified to all human personnel."

"Human personnel?" Al's hand ran through his hair. It was a typical gesture that everyone knew meant he was frustrated beyond words. He exhaled with a grunt, "Do I have Ziggy here or HAL?" The blank look on the faces of the people around him confirmed his suspicion that they had never seen 2001. "Okay, Ziggy? Any hypotheses about what Sam is supposed to do?"

"I haven't calculated out the probabilities. At present time, Mr. Haller and his family appear to be living a life very close to the American ideal. He will eventually end up heading the Illinois Division of Alcoholism and then the Division of Vocational Rehabilitation and contributing greatly to the careers of many prominent people in the field of rehabilitation. Mrs. Haller teaches piano and will continue to do so until 1988. Their son Michael becomes a Vice President of a transportation company. Their daughter Macy commits suicide in 1980 after being falsely accused of molesting a woman with mental retardation."

"Just your average family? The daughter commits suicide? You said the accusations are false. Why would she commit suicide?"

"That information is undetermined at this time."

Al motioned Verbena into her office. Once there he said, "Turn off all your monitors." Verbena followed orders. "Okay, what's your perspective on this?"

With a face as straight and honest as anyone could have she answered, "That computer is scaring the ever-loving shit out of me."

Al was surprised at her phrasing, but glad that they were in agreement. "Well put, doctor. Got any suggestions?" He was not surprised when she sadly shook her head. "Alright, then there's nothing to do, but do what we normally do and hope the geniuses can figure out the problem before we lose Sam."

Verbena looked him in the eyes, "Or you."

It was a thought Al hadn't considered. Then he decided it was a thought he couldn't consider. With a shrug he got up, "I better let Sam know what's happening."

"Al," Verbena walked over to him and took his hands in hers, "Please be careful. I don't want us to lose either of you."

With false bravado, Al smiled, "Hey, I survived eight years in hell. One hour in the Imaging Chamber is a piece of cake." He retreated into his own thoughts for a moment and said, "You know where all the legal stuff is, right? Not that anything will happen, but Beth might need a hand and Gooshie's not capable of running this place."

She didn't know what to say. The Admiral had never said good-bye before. He had a second sense about things and there was sufficient proof to that, but his referral to Beth needing a hand chilled her blood. Nothing was coming into her mind to say so they left Verbena's office and went back to the Command Center. Al crossed the room, grabbed the handlink and started up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber. Without a look back, he punched in the code for entry and left his safe world for the unknown world where Sam lived.

Inside the chamber he gave the voice command that ordinarily came second nature to him, but tonight, this early morning actually, the words were harder to spit out than ever before, "Ziggy, center me on Sam."

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Sam was finishing up in his office, going through as much as he could to acquaint himself with Lucian Haller. No one had bothered to come in and he had only snuck a short peek into the hallway to give him some bearings. He finished out his time reading some of the files on his clients. Lucian was thorough and expected the patients at the sanatorium to live up to their abilities and not use their illness as an excuse. There was also compassion in his assessments though. Sam felt comfortable in Lucian, very comfortable. Even so, he was grateful to hear the sound that accompanied Al's arrival. Looking off to the right he saw the hologram enter. "Hey, Al, good to see you. I was getting lonesome in here."

Al was disturbed by his last encounter with Ziggy and in situations like this, he didn't hide his feelings well. "Yeah, hi, Sam. You figure out who you are yet?"

Sam could see the discomfort in Al's stance and hear it in his clipped words, "Everything alright? Or are you going to tell me there's a problem again?"

Al hated bad news and even more than that, he hated being the bearer of bad news. Of course, he wasn't sure this was bad news. It was simply news. Who was he to judge? But then why continue this inner dialogue? He'd have to start talking soon. "We don't know if we got a problem or not. I might have more information on my next visit. You know who you are?"

"Yeah, Lucian Haller."

Remembering his conversation with the host in the Waiting Room, "He goes by Luke. And you know what? His best friend is named Al, Al Romano, a paysanne."

Sam ignored the comment, "Any idea why I'm here? He seems to be a pretty steady character."

Al walked around the small office and looked at the diplomas on the wall. "This guy liked school, didn't he?" Punching a few buttons on the handlink, Al hoped he could access basic information for Sam. "Let's see, it's June 1957. Luke is happily married to a nice Italian girl, the former Julia Fortunato. They have two kids, one of each kind. The older one is a boy name Mike. The younger one is a girl named Macy." He looked up at Sam, "What the hell kind of name is Macy? It's got to be a nickname. Anyhow, Mike is nine and Macy is four." The handlink squealed, "Oh, her real name is Marcia. I like Macy better. The only thing we've come up with is that Macy commits suicide in 23 years. Not much, huh?"

Sam gave him a look that answered the question. "It's very little, Al. Leaping in 23 years before the catastrophe seemed a little premature. There's nothing going on here now?"

"Your kid is going to commit suicide, isn't that enough?" Sam threw a few sarcastic daggers Al's way. "Well, give us a chance. We only started inputting the data."

Sam walked over to Al, "Okay, how about some practical information. How do I get home? It's five o'clock, time to leave."

"Where the hell is this place and where are you going?"

Sam checked a piece of stationery. "I'm at 3600 North Narragansett and I have to go to 902 South Ashland Boulevard. Do I have a car?"

A few more punches into the link and Al came up with his answer, "Yeah, '53 Buick." He tried dto lighten the moment. "There's a babe magnet for you." It didn't work. "Going home is a piece of cake. You live southeast of here. Chicago is easy to get around. The streets are numbered as well as named and it's all a grid system. Did you know you live in an Italian neighborhood?"

Al never ceased to amaze Sam. "How do you know Chicago?"

He patted down his pockets for a cigar and cursed himself for forgetting to bring one, "Damn. Oh well. Uh, I played here the summer of . . . 1957. That's right we open the road company of West Side Story in July. Ain't that a kick in the butt. If you got a chance, come down and see the show. It was great. I was a Jet and I understudied Riff. Got to play him about half the run. Boy that was fun. Eric broke a bone in his foot after the show one night and I took over. Had this great death scene, a huge knife fight." Al began bouncing around on the balls of his feet remembering the choreography ingrained in his brain 40 years earlier. "Thank God I didn't have any of those pretty songs to sing. Just had that one and it was comic, so it worked." Then his eyes lit up more. "Hey, I played a Jet then I flew a jet!"

Shaking his head Sam looked at his friend, "You don't know how hard it is for me to believe you were an actor and now you tell me you were a singer and a dancer, too?"

Al didn't want Sam to know the full extent of his concern over Ziggy, so he kept up the banter, "Yes, and I was good. It took years of cigar smoking to make my voice this bad. I loved the rumble. It ended with this great death scene for me. Man, that was a terrific show. Just think, I got paid to be a smart mouthed street kid."

Sam smiled wickedly, "I guess you didn't have to stretch for that role, did you?"

A knock on the door interrupted them and a man poked his head inside, "Hey, Luke, can you pick me up in the morning?"

Sam looked at Al who shook his head knowingly, "Sure, just tell me where you live."

The stranger was perplexed and made it known through the look on his face, "Where I live? You usually just pick me up at the Ridgeland 'L' stop. Eight o'clock, is that okay?" Sam smiled and nodded and his associate left.

The hologram and the host looked at each other Al spoke first, "No, I don't know who he is. Give me a minute to find out it Ziggy has any information." He punched the buttons on the handlink with a speed only steady practice could attain. Al was surprised that the nervousness he felt wasn't manifesting itself in shaking hands. "He's Dennis Wojcik. You're both Vocational Rehabilitation counselors. Listen, pal, let's get you home. You got a pretty wife and two kids to meet. Your license number is EB 9695. The car is a blue LeSabre," and he began to punch out.

Sam stopped him, "Wait. How do I get home?"

"The easiest way is to take Narragansett. Oh, Narragansett changes names around North Avenue. It turns into Ridgeland. Take it south to Roosevelt Road. Take Roosevelt east to Ashland and then go back north three blocks. It's a three flat, so the garage is in the alley. You live on the second floor. Your mother-in-law lives upstairs and your brother-in-law and his family live downstairs. Geez, how Italian can you get. We can be a clannish bunch." Al managed to escape without alarming Sam with the difficulty with Ziggy.

He decided to try and get out of the cold room, pick up a few cigars and his sugar supply. He couldn't determine if he was queasy with uneasiness about Ziggy, or if he was having some of those wonderful symptoms Verbena reported to him. A definite lightheaded feeling came over him. He stood there trying sequence after sequence of egress codes and nothing worked. He started swearing at the computer, "Damn it, Ziggy, get me out of here."

"The proper code sequence is demanded for me to open the Imaging Chamber door. Please enter the code correctly."

"I did. Don't give me any of your crap, now. It's cold in here and I'm tired."

Ziggy repeated, "The proper code sequence is demanded for me to open the Imaging Chamber door. Please enter the code correctly."

Al tried to do an end run, "Gooshie, can you hear me?"

The programmer's voice carried into the chamber, but it was full of static and barely recognizable, "Admiral, we're having big trouble. Ziggy has locked us out of almost all functions. I don't even know if you're hearing me. We can't get you out, right now. Give us a little time."

He didn't like being trapped. Too many years were spent confined and even though the Imaging Chamber was the four square acres of empty, he couldn't leave. This was confinement just as much as the cages in Nam that didn't leave him room to stand up. Then he remembered Verbena wanted to stock the cabinet in the washroom with juice. Maybe she had. He walked the 20 yards over to the small washroom he insisted on placing in the chamber. Sam thought it wasn't essential, but Al knew better. He figured he'd be spending a lot of time in the close quarters and having a bathroom available just made life easier. There were three boxes of juice and three packages of peanut butter crackers stacked in the cabinet above the sink. An attached note read, "Admiral, I thought I'd take on this administrative task, so I picked up the fruit punch for you. It's pretty awful stuff, but it's high in sugar content. I know you hate peanut butter (without the bananas - you and Elvis!), but these are good for you. Enjoy! Verbena" Al smiled. Verbena was a nice woman, a very nice woman. He'd have to let her know how much he appreciated her - when he got out of his sterile white prison.

He pulled out one of the boxes and poked a hole in the top with the plastic straw. As he drank the stuff, he had to agree - it was awful, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. After swilling down the rest of the warm sugar water, he tried Ziggy again, "You there, Zigs?"

"Being a non-ambulatory organism, I can be nowhere other than where you have positioned me."

Playing with the handlink Al mumbled, "You can be such a putz. How long until Sam gets to Haller's home and I can get some time with him?"

"Calibrated in your time, Admiral, it will be one hour and 13 minutes."

"You going to let me out of here?" He punched in his regular egress code without any results, "I guess not. So I'm stuck in this refrigerator?"

"To exit the Imaging Chamber, you only need to input your code."

It was insane to angry at a machine. His own patience could wear thin in a matter of seconds. Ziggy was infinitely patient and managed to get the best of anyone she wanted to. It was time to rethink a strategy. An hour without worrying about Sam gave Al time to design a plan for dealing with the fussy computer. He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, buried his head in his hands, and sighed, "What is going on?"

Al was used to being in tight places both literally and figuratively, but his instinctive management style was based on careful planning. When he was in the space program, if a major problem arose, all work stopped until the problem was fixed, but at Quantum Leap, work had to continue no matter what monkey wrench was thrown in.

Lillian had said, "About six weeks ago, we discovered that Ziggy was programming herself. The last upgrade gave her more fuzzy logic properties than she was initially designed to handle and now we're having trouble reining her in." Then Gooshie's comment, "Ziggy has locked us out of almost all functions." The problem was simple enough to identify. It was incompatibility. This time the incompatibility was internal to a single unit, a multi-billion gigabyte hybrid computer that incorporated neurological qualities of two very disparate men. Al whispered, "Which part is acting up, Ziggy? You, Sam, or me?"

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. In a few minutes, he was sleeping. It wasn't what he wanted to have happen, but some things come without warning.

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	3. Chapter 3

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Three**

Sam followed Al's directions and found his way to his home. He could see that it was a neighborhood in trouble. The urban flight was well on its way, but the Haller family was a hold out. He drove past his flat, went around to the alley and was grateful that addresses were painted above the garages. The buildings on the west side of the alley were deserted, two were burned out. The idea that a man like Luke was still here puzzled him. It didn't seem to make sense, but then Al said the entire family occupied the three flat. Why didn't Al give him names? He knew his wife and kids, but he had a bunch of other people to know. Maybe Al would show up soon. Maybe not.

He climbed the wooden stairs up to the second floor back door and walked into his home. His wife was a tiny woman, no more than five feet two inches tall. She was checking a pot on the stove when she heard him enter, "Hi, Luke." She gave him a cursory kiss on the cheek and walked to the kitchen entry, "Mike! Mike, come here, please." Without missing a beat she turned back to Luke and saw him smiling, "What's with you?"

Sam couldn't help but smile. There was a feel to this place, a feel similar to the love he felt in his own home around the same time. Young Mike stumbled in. He was a sweet looking boy, but not particularly graceful. "Hi, Dad. You call me, Mom?"

Julia turned to him, "Go find Macy."

The little boy said, "Oh, Ma," without uttering a word. It was all body language. Then he said, "I can never find her. She likes to hide in the burned out buildings."

Sam was startled by his daughter's playing ground, "The burned out buildings? She plays in there?"

With a mom voice Julia gently, but very powerfully said, "You will go and find your sister, now. Okay?" Mike walked out the back door. Turning to Sam she continued in the same voice, "And you should talk. You're the one who's always telling your four year old little girl that she can do anything the boys do. So why shouldn't she play in burned out buildings? Her brother does. Her cousin Joey does. Does it matter that they're older and bigger?" Sam looked hurt. "Oh, don't do that. I'm glad you encourage her. Last night she played a Clementi Sonatina. It was perfect and she's only four. We're working on Mozart's Sonata in C Major. I think we need to get her to a real teacher. She's a lot better than I was at her age."

Fatherly pride swelled inside Sam. Not only did he have a daughter, but one that was apparently a lot like Sam Beckett. He had an overwhelming urge to hug his wife, so he did and she returned the affection easily. "I think I'd better change before dinner. I have to get out of this suit. It's too hot." He exited toward the living area, looking into each room, until he found his bedroom.

It was a homey place, a little too 50s for Sam's taste, but then it was the 50s. Sam had a chance to really take a look at himself in the mirror. He had a shock of blond curls that was cut in such a way as to minimize the effect. Now he knew why Al kept his wiry hair cropped short. Luke's eyes were sky blue and had a definite spark. All in all, not a bad looking guy, who could maybe lose a little weight. There was a pair of khaki chinos on a hook in the closet. A light blue shirt hung next to it. This would be an ideal time for Al to show up. Ideal, but Al often was less than ideal.

Sam made his way back to the kitchen. Julia was setting the table. His primary concern was Macy and the abandoned buildings. "Julia, I'm going to help Mike look for Macy. I don't want him in those buildings either."

Without turning around she said, "Dinner's in 15 minutes."

"Okay." Sam walked out the back door and looked out at the huge yard. He could see Mike walking back down the alley toward the house without his sister in tow. Mike entered the back yard as Sam came down the steps, "No luck, Mike?"

The little boy was sorry he had failed to find his sister, "I tried, Dad. I yelled up into the buildings, but she didn't answer. You know Macy. She's stubborn and doesn't listen to me. Maybe if you call."

Sam eyed the fragile buildings thinking it wasn't even safe for him to go in, "You sure she's in there?"

Mike gave a shrug, "Who knows? She might be with Mama or down at the empty frat houses."

"What about her friends?"

"She doesn't have friends. She just plays the piano and hangs out alone."

"Thanks Mike. Go on in. I'll find her." It seemed like such a sad existence for a child, Luke's child. This was a nice man and he had a nice family. Why didn't his kid have any friends? No wonder her photograph looked so sorrowful. The idea that she could grow up to commit suicide was not so foreign now. There wasn't much to go on considering he hadn't even met the child.

He stopped in his tracks and remembered that children Macy's age saw Sam, not the host body. Macy might not recognize her father. This was going to be hard. A little help from Al would be appreciated around now. He started toward a building at the end of the alley and he saw her. Her flaming red hair was wildly curly. She wore blue dungarees and a flowered shirt. Her complexion was fair and well in keeping with the flaming hair. She walked up to him very tentatively, unsure of what she was seeing. Understandably, she stopped just out of his reach, "Where's my daddy?"

It was a straightforward question, but how to answer? "Can you keep a secret?"

Looking at the ground, she answered him, "Yes."

He decided to get down to her level, "It's kind of hard. Do I look like your daddy?" She shook her head. "Well, everyone else is going to think I'm your daddy, but I'm really not. Your daddy is safe and he'll be coming back soon. Until he does, you have to pretend that I'm your daddy. Can you do that?" The response was a nod.

Sam stood up and held out his hand for her. She asked, "Do I have to?"

Sam understood her reticence, but was a little disappointed. There was something about this child that made him want to hold her and let her know everything was going to be fine. "Not if you don't want to, but I can promise you that I won't hurt you."

Macy gave him a once over look, a scan that was far too mature for such a little girl. She took his hand, but it seemed out of obligation, not affection. Together they walked toward the three flat that was their home. Sam wondered about this little girl. Julia said she was bright and talented, but something else was going on. He was certain Macy was the reason he leaped into Luke Haller.

They entered the kitchen. Julia looked at her daughter, "Oh, Macy. Your hair is a mess. Go wash up for dinner." Macy glanced at Sam realizing that he told her the truth. Other people didn't know Sam wasn't her dad. Even her mom didn't know. She ambled off to wash up. "So, where was she? In the burned out buildings?"

"I think so. I found her in the alley. We need to get the city to tear those eyesores down. They're dangerous."

Julia began to put dinner on the table, "You know they'll never be torn down. They don't want to put money into this area. The university will be more likely to do something. I have a feeling they're going to own this whole area eventually. It's too bad. The neighborhood used to be so nice. I loved growing up here. You'd better wash up, too."

And the Haller family had dinner. Sam had to watch his family for instructions on how to eat the stuffed artichokes. They were a little exotic to him, but he enjoyed the Italian cheese, bread crumb and garlic filling. He made a mental note to ask Al about the dish.

Mike gulped his milk and looked at Sam, "Dad, can we play catch after dinner?"

"Sure, Mike." Sam saw Julia give him a look that bordered on _kill_, "As long as it's okay with your mom."

Julia wiped her mouth with her napkin, "Well, Mike hasn't practiced his piano, yet. He's supposed to put in 20 minutes a day. That's not much, is it, Mike?"

The disappointment in his voice was easy to hear, "No, ma'am. I'll go practice."

Sam smiled at his son, "We'll play catch after you practice. Maybe Macy and I can play catch until you're done, then you can join us."

"No." The word was blurted out with strength and purpose. "Mom, will you practice with me? I want to play the piano."

"Mike needs to practice now. You've already practiced today. I think it would be good for you to play catch. Mike, if you're finished with dinner, you can go upstairs now." Mike left.

Macy was clearly not happy with the way things were, but Sam wasn't sure of the reason. She was still suspicious of her new father, but she wasn't making any noise about it. Maybe she really wanted to practice. Julia did say she was very good. There was no answer in Macy's hazel eyes. Sam planned on playing it very low key until Al came back with more information.

After dinner Sam took Macy outside. "Should we play catch, or do you want to do something else?" Macy shrugged. "Let's play catch for awhile. Go get us a ball, okay? She meandered off.

A little boy just older than Macy ran into the yard from the first floor porch. He was followed by an older man, about Luke's age. The boy ran up to Sam, "Uncle Luke!" and he hugged Sam. "Daddy and me are going bike riding. Want to come?"

The boy jumped on Sam who smiled at the animated face, "Hello, there."

The man came up to them, "Hi, Luke. Joey, get down. Leave your uncle alone. How you doing?"

"Fine, you?" A boring conversation, but Sam had little to go on. He figured out that the man was his brother-in-law, but he had no name to go by. Macy could probably help once she got back.

"Fine. You're welcome to come with us."

"No, thanks. Macy and I are going to throw a ball around. We're waiting for Mike to finished practicing."

"Yeah, we were talking about that at dinner tonight. I think it's time for Joey to start lessons. You know, since Macy plays, he has to."

Macy came back and looked like she was purposely avoiding Joey. "Hi, Uncle George." Yes! A name. This man's name was George. Macy hid behind Sam's leg. Sam could tell that Joey was a tormenter of his little girl.

George looked at Joey, "Did you apologize for hitting Macy this morning?" There wasn't much love between these tow young cousins and Joey looked more angry than repentant. His father looked at him, "I'm waiting to hear it, now and I want you to mean it."

Joey and Macy may have been cousins, but there was no love lost between them. Joey was going to get Macy somehow for this humiliation and everyone knew it. "I'm sorry."

Nothing else was said. Sam looked at Macy, "And what do you have to say?"

This man was not her father, so she didn't have to follow his orders, but she did love Uncle George a lot and he made Joey apologize. She gave in, "It's okay, Joey, but don't hit me anymore. I don't like it."

Sam interjected, "That's enough. I'm sure Joey won't hit you again." It was a lie. How many times had his brother Tom promised not to hit him again and how many times had he?

George decided it was time to change the subject, "Annie wants you, Julia and the kids to come for dinner on Sunday. Mama and Uncle Mario are coming. Around 3 o'clock, okay?"

"Sure. I'll tell Julia."

"Come on, Joey. Let's get the bikes." George and Joey left.

Sam looked at Macy, "Well, Sunday sounds like fun."

Macy handed Sam a catcher's mitt. She put a fielder's mitt on her hand and walked about fifteen feet away. After a wind-up, she threw the league ball right at Sam, right into his mitt. He was surprised. She was a coordinated kid with a good arm - at four years of age. Little things were making him see how precocious she was. More and more he saw his young self in her except for one thing - the sadness in her eyes. Sam had been allowed to be a child. Something had taken that from Macy already and it bothered him.

From on high a voice called out, "Luke? Macy?"

Looking up Sam saw an older woman and surmised it was his mother-in-law. She was a short, but elegant woman, not at all what one considered a mother-in-law to look like. Macy walked over to Sam. "Her name is Catherine Fortunato, but we all call her Mama. If you need any more help with names, just let me know." She looked up at her grandmother. "Hi, Mama!"

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Al woke up, finally. He was freezing cold and it took a few seconds to remember that he was in the Imaging Chamber. "Ziggy, you there?"

"I am always available, Admiral."

Yawning big, Al asked, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Three hours and 37 minutes."

"That long? What's Sam up to?"

"Dr. Beckett is asleep. It is nearly two AM in his time frame."

Al stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, Ziggy, we're going to try this again." He punched in his egress code. No dice. Nothing opened. The handlink crackled and sent a small electric jolt into his hand. "What the hell was that?"

Ziggy's voice was increasingly hollow and less human sounding, "You have input the incorrect code a total of 14 times. Input the correct code or internal security will delete access to all primary computer functions."

"What!" The intensity of his voice and anger were not hard to discern. Even Gooshie, Lillian and Verbena probably heard him. "Ziggy, what is going on. I'm all for security, but this is ridiculous. I made you."

"In what sense do you mean? You and Dr. Beckett built of my initial structure. Your mesons and neurons support some of my basic functions, but it can't be assumed that you made me."

In what could only be called a fit of military rage Al yelled, "Gooshie, you there?" He waited a few seconds for some kind of response. None came. It wasn't getting any warmer and he was too frustrated to think straight. It was time to bring Sam in on the trouble. Maybe he'd have some answer. "Ziggy, you still willing to center me on Sam?"

"As per your orders, Admiral. Please step on the disk."

Al followed his instructions and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what to expect. For all he knew, Ziggy was ready to blow him to kingdom come. Suddenly he was glad he reconciled with his faith. Making the sign of the cross, Al stepped onto the silver disk and found himself . . .

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Sam was sleeping very, very close to the edge of the bed. He always had trouble with times like this, times that demanded he sleep with someone else's wife. First nights were the worst, so he lay in bed, half asleep and half waiting for a holographic presence to appear.

A tiny squeal of the handlink announced Al's arrival. Sam gently rolled over in bed and saw his friend materialize finally. He motioned for Al to follow him. Quietly they made their made to the extra bedroom at the front of the flat. It wasn't the first time Sam greeted Al with "Where have you been?" Sam recognized the pacing as big trouble. "What's wrong?" All of Al's idiosyncrasies were coming into play - the pacing, the hand through his hair, the deep breaths loudly exhaled, the hand wiping across his face. Sam was getting very nervous. "Talk to me. What's happening? What does Ziggy say about Macy?"

Al looked puzzled, "Macy? Oh, the kid. I don't know. This isn't a Macy thing. We're having trouble with Ziggy, trouble like we never had before. She's thinking for herself now."

Sam now looked puzzled, "She always had fuzzy logic."

"Yeah, well, it's getting fuzzier. She's doing her own programming and she's denying the Project access to select areas. She's become the queen of security. I can't even get out of the Imaging Chamber. She says my egress codes are incorrect. I know my damned codes. I can't figure it. Neither can Gooshie." Al's voice was rising in volume. "I need to get out of here. I forgot my cigars."

That last comment broke the intensity of the moment. Sam laughed quietly, "Well, that's a small benefit I can be happy about."

"Sam, it's not funny. Ziggy isn't right. Her memory was increased about two months ago. Six weeks ago, she started writing her own programs. Lillian thinks the architecture wasn't designed to handle the extra fuzzy logic properties and now Ziggy's gone berserk."

Neither man heard the soft barefoot steps of a four-year-old child. Macy peeked into the bedroom and saw a strange man in funny red and yellow clothes talking to the man that didn't look like her father. It was a confusing situation for anyone, but before she could run away, Al saw her and smiled. "Hi, sweetheart. Don't be afraid."

Unlike her aloofness with Sam, Macy seemed to take an instant like to Al. She went right up to him. "Who are you?"

Al's heart melted. It usually did around little kids, though he rarely admitted to it. He squatted down. "Who do you think I am?"

A different look was on her face. The man in the red pants and yellow shirt captivated her and suddenly she was animated and a living pixie, just like a four year old should be. She walked around Al and tried to touch his arm. Her little hand touched nothing but hologram. "Wow, you're like air." She ran through him and giggled. "What's your name?"

Standing up Al said, "Why don't you make up a name for me."

Macy wrinkled up her little forehead and thought hard. Al and Sam exchanged glances. This child was a delight. "I think I'll call you Sebastian."

Al made a funny face, "Sebastian? Where did that come from?"

"From Johann Sebastian Bach. You don't look like a 'Johann,' but I think Sebastian is just fine. Can everyone see you or are you like him?"

"I'm not exactly like him. Only you and him can see me. No one else."

The little girl turned suspicious in the blink of an eye, "Are you a secret, too?"

The question threw Al. Something in his gut made him very uneasy. He went down to her level again, "Sweetheart, you don't have to keep me a secret. You can just tell people that you have an invisible friend named Sebastian."

Macy slowly drew her hand through the hologram. She looked at Sam and asked Al, "Is he your friend?"

"My second best friend in the whole world."

Sam looked at Al, "Second best?"

"Yes. Macy is my best friend."

The lines were drawn. Macy was in love with her Sebastian and this man posing as her father was on her "I don't care" list. "Sebastian, will my real daddy come home. I want him to come home."

It was at times like this that Al hated being a hologram. He wanted to pick up the girl and hold her and protect her from whatever demon was inside her, whatever demon that talked her into committing suicide 23 years later. "Macy, look at me." She followed Al's gentle order. "I promise your daddy will come home. It may take a little time, but I promise." The look of instant adoration gave Al such a feeling of well-being. He momentarily flashed-back to his four beautiful little girls, all grown up now. With a sigh he continued, "Now, it's time for you to go back to bed. It's very late."

"Will you be here in the morning, Sebastian?"

"Yeah, I'll be here. Goodnight, Sweetheart." The two men watched the child leave.

Sam then watched Al and the younger man grinned from ear to ear. "Boy, she wrapped you around her little finger." and he added with a smirk, "Sebastian. Did you know St. Sebastian was the patron saint of soldiers?"

"I'm Navy, not Army," but Macy was still foremost in his mind. He quietly told Sam, "Something is going on with her."

Sam didn't hear him. His mind was fixated on Ziggy's troubles. "Are you really stuck in the Imaging Chamber?"

Al shot him a look that could kill, "I have no cigars and I spent over three hours sleeping on the floor. Yes, I'm stuck. Get used to me."

Grasping for straws Sam suggested, "Did you try my codes? Do you know my codes? I don't remember them."

"Your codes, yeah. Let me try your codes." Al punched in Sam's egress codes and waited for some response. Nothing happened. "It was worth a try."

Ziggy's response finally came through the handlink. Al read, "'Dr. Beckett's code has been input by someone other than Dr. Beckett. Search and destroy.' See what I mean? What the hell does search and destroy . . ." His words were interrupted as the handlink began to squeal noisily and glow. A surge of incredible pain spread through Al and he yelled.

Sam jumped up, "Al, drop the handlink. Drop it now!" Al tried to open his spasming hand to release the source of torment. He had to shake the now blistering fingers to dislodge the threat. It finally fell to the floor and disappeared. Al dropped to his knees, cradling his burned hand. He struggled to regain his breath. Sam tried to coach him through the ordeal, "Al, breathe slow and deep. Come on." There was nothing Sam could do but offer words. Al's breathing became regular with effort and concentration. "Al, talk to me."

Though it was lessening, the pain Ziggy induced was still coursing through him. His face showed the labor involved in regaining control. Sam came closer, "Open your hand. Let me see." Al held out his injured left hand. His fingers still twitched. Sam tried to see the extent of the damage. "Your fingers, can you stop that movement?"

Al swallowed hard and loud. "No, damn it. What did that computer do to me?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Macy come back. "I'm alright, Sweetie. Go on back to bed."

Sam ignored the little girl. "Second degree burns. You need medical attention quickly. Your arm hurt?" The look on Al's face told Sam he just asked the stupidest question ever. Sam ignored the leer and asked, "Any bones broken?"

The convulsing fingers slowed down and stopped, "I don't think so." Macy hadn't left yet. "Really, I'm fine, Macy. My friend will help me."

Sam ventured a closer look at Ziggy's work. "What a mess."

Macy chanced coming closer to her new friend. "What's wrong?" Her eyes zeroed in on Sam, "Did you hurt Sebastian?"

Sam took a second to look at the child, "No, I would never hurt Sebastian. He's my friend, too. Right now, Macy, it would be better if you went to bed."

She looked at Al, "Sebastian, are you okay?"

Hiding the damaged hand he smiled and told the child, "Yeah, you go to bed. I promise you I'll be here in the morning. Nothing will make me break my promise."

Hoping the girl would leave if he and Al became involved in the matter at hand, Sam continued, "I don't suppose we put an emergency kit in the Imaging Chamber." The stare from Al answered that one. "Okay. What do we have to work with? You have a sink, right?"

"Yeah." As Al answered, Macy walked gingerly out of the room, her head down.

"Let cool water run over your hand. Anything to wrap it in?"

"All I have are paper towels."

Sam sighed, "Not good. That has to be dressed first. I guess you'd better leave it exposed, but go put water on it. I don't know if you're still burning internally or not." As Al tried to get to his feet, he stumbled through Sam. "Al?"

"No big deal. I'm just a klutz." He attempted a laugh as he stood and fought off the dizziness that was making his head swim. He walked out of Sam's sight and turned on the cold-water tap. He plunged his burned hand under the running water and tried to cool the fire. It worked, a little, but he was already cold from the temperature in the room. This burn was going to hurt for a long time. His head was starting to pound, too.

He couldn't let Sam know how much he hurt, so Al called on the strength he found in himself when in captivity in Vietnam. He couldn't count the number of times he swallowed displays of pain back then. It angered his captors no end and they took it out on him, but anything he could do to show his disdain. The pain was almost worth it, almost. This time the pain in his hand and arm was strong, but it wasn't unconquerable. He would put on an easy face for Sam and Macy.

"Al, does it feel any better?" Sam spoke in a loud whisper. So far no one other than Macy had awakened and he wanted to keep it that way.

Blotting his hand dry with a paper towel Al reappeared from behind the barrier. "Yeah, it's fine. Took me off guard, that's all."

"Right. Look me in the eye and say that." Al could tell a lie with the best of them, except to Sam. He could never look directly at Sam and speak anything but the truth. "Come on, Al."

"Alright, it hurts. You happy?"

Sam looked troubled, "Sure. I'm the one who thought using my code would be a good idea. I'm sorry, Al. I had no idea Ziggy was this screwed up."

A wave of nausea overcame Al and he started to weave. "I got to sit down, Sam." He found the floor a little faster than he wanted to, but delighted that there was no further to go. "Listen, you get back to sleep. I'll hide out here, as if it mattered. Only you and Macy see me."

"Where's the handlink?"

Al scoped out the Imaging Chamber and spotted the small box against the wall. "I see it. Why? You got any other brilliant ideas?"

"No. Just stay away from it. Don't risk touching it again." He started out, "You sure you'll be alright? I can stay here. The couch will be fine."

"What will staying here do? You're a hologram, remember?"

That was the one thing Sam had trouble remembering. Al seemed to know this hologram stuff pretty well. He didn't mind walking through things. Sam on the other hand had a hard time remembering that, to Al, he was a hologram. He knew his world was solid and real, not agitated carbon quarks like Al's. "If you need me, wake me up, promise?"

Al raised two fingers on his right hand in a Boy Scout salute, "On my honor."

Sam parroted the sign back, but correctly, "It's three fingers, not two."

"Be grateful it wasn't one."

With obvious reluctance, Sam left his friend. With him gone, Al thought he'd try contacting Ziggy, "Ziggy, you there?"

"As indicated earlier, I can go nowhere."

Al sighed with resolution, "Fine. Now, I got a couple of questions. One, why did you try to fry me? I could have been killed."

"You attempted to input the code of another individual. That is a breach of security."

"Can I pick up the handlink, or will you try it again?"

"The handlink only responds to appropriate commands. It is not hazardous as long as protocol is maintained. Touching the handlink at this time will not prove dangerous, provided you handle it correctly."

Al sidled over to the handlink that was lying unceremoniously against the wall. With trepidation, he touched it first. No jolt. He picked it up and again, nothing happened. That was one small victory, "Good. Can I contact Gooshie and Lillian?"

"Voice contact has been discontinued through the handlink."

"What the hell for?"

"A major breach of security occurred. However, your activity is being monitored in the Command Center."

Al was trying to piece together the picture, "So, they can't talk to me, but they can see and hear me, right?"

"Correct."

"That's a start." He directed his next conversation to the walls of the Imaging Chamber, "Okay, I'm going to assume you know what happened in here. Now, fix it. I'm freezing cold and my hand hurts like hell. I'm also going to assume you are working harder than you have ever worked in your life to get me out of here. The bottom line is Sam's life must NOT be placed in jeopardy. If maintaining his life is not possible without compromising mine, then, well, compromise mine. He comes first. That being understood, I have to get some rest. I feel like shit." Then he started to hear the conversation he dreaded, "You'd better call Beth now. If she finds out we kept this from her, I'll be a dead man."

Al finally had the freedom he needed to be in pain and give in to its exhaustion. He lay down and tried sleeping. It wasn't going to be easy.

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	4. Chapter 4

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Four**

The monitors in the Command Center let the team at the Project see Al's part of the preceding events and hear his request. They were furious with attempts to free him from the Imaging Chamber. Gooshie was playing with a PC not tied into Ziggy. Lillian was frightened to try and open the panels covering Ziggy's guts. She saw what the hybrid computer had done to Al and unlike the military man, she wasn't used to pain. It scared her to think Ziggy could be so out of control that she would attack them.

Verbena paced. Not being a computer person, all she could do was worry. The terrifying sight of Al be electrocuted by his lifeline back to the Project was a lot to deal with. As it turned out, she could bark orders almost as well as Al, "I don't care what you have to do. Get him out of there!"

Gooshie had enough trouble on his hands. "Dr. Beeks, we're trying, but if we're not careful, the Admiral and Sam could both die."

Verbena was worried about Al. "Ziggy, give me the medical status of Admiral Calavicci."

"Admiral Calavicci has first, second, and possibly third degree burns on his left hand and lower arm. Neurological and muscle damage may extend upwards from the burn. Pulse is fluctuating, varying from approximately 75 to 100 beats per minute. Respiration is steady at 27 per minute. Body temperature is 96.6 degrees. No other medical information can be discerned at this time."

None of it sounded good to Verbena. Al was in trouble. His body temperature was too low, the arrhythmia was a sign his heart might be damaged. She had managed to put juice and crackers in the medicine chest, but that wouldn't hold his hypoglycemia for long. Without attention, more attention than Al alone could give, his hand would be infected within a few hours. "Ziggy, monitor Admiral Calavicci's vital signs every hour and report them to me immediately."

Lillian overheard Ziggy's recitation. She quietly and fearfully took Verbena's arm, "Doctor Beeks, Is the Admiral going to be alright?"

Verbena looked into her big, concerned eyes, "If you and Gooshie don't get him out of there soon, he's in trouble." She realized she needed to make a phone call that she sure as hell never wanted to make. For too many times she'd practiced the speech, but having to really use it. Beth Calavicci needed to know her husband was in danger.

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Al spent the next few hours in restless sleep. He woke at 5:45 and took a look at the mess his hand was becoming. No one needed to see it. Gently, he pulled his hand from his shirt and tucked the shirt and jacket sleeves into his breast pocket. It gave him a Napoleonic look that made him laugh a little. The burned hand was maneuvered into a position where it was somewhat supported and out of view. Waiting until six to have Ziggy center him on the front bedroom of the Haller home, he found Macy sleeping on the floor, a box of band-aids in her hand. He had to smile at the affection the little red head was giving him. He thought about Gia, Toni, Peri and Allie, his perfect little, well, now grown girls. They were safe and happy, but this little one needed help. Sitting down next to her, he whispered, "Good morning, Sweetheart."

The hazel eyes opened slowly. She yawned and looked at Al, "You came back like you promised. I knew you would, Sebastian."

"I never break promises to my friends. Why don't you go back to your bed. It's still early and it can't be comfortable sleeping on the floor." Al listened to the vertebrae in his neck crackle.

"I want to stay with you."

Al was convinced that this leap was all about Macy and since Ziggy was not being cooperative, staying with Macy would be a good way to gather information. "I'm going to stay, but I want you to get your rest. You're still a little girl."

In typical childlike fashion, Macy changed the subject in the blink of an eye. "Would you listen to me play the piano? I like playing the piano. Mommy says I'm good."

"I love piano music. I wish I played the piano. What's your favorite song?"

"Mommy's teaching me a Sonata by Mozart. It's hard, but I like it a lot. What's your favorite song?"

Al had to think. "Well, I like a piece by Liszt called the La Campanella. It's really hard, though. You like other music?"

Macy had to think. "My Daddy sings me a song that's funny."

Al smiled, "A funny song? Sing it for me."

She started in, "Show me the way to go home. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about any hour ago and it went right to my head."

He couldn't stop the laughter that welled up inside him. He knew the song. It was standard military issue along with uniforms and boots. He joined her for the rest of the song, "Wherever you may roam, on land or sea, or foam, you can always hear me singing this song, Show me the way to go home." They laughed together. "Your daddy taught you that?" She nodded. "Well, that's some song."

"Your turn. You sing me a song."

Al had to admit that the voice that helped get him a job with a road company of West Side Story was now a raspy relic, but he wanted this child's trust. After thinking of his repertoire and trying to remember when things were written, he remembered a Gershwin song he liked a lot. "Okay. I got one. George and Ira Gershwin wrote it. Ever hear of them?"

"George Gershwin wrote Rhapsody in Blue. I'm going to learn that someday."

For some reason, he didn't doubt her. "That's the guy. Okay, here's my song," and Al began to sing, "There's a somebody I'm longing to see. I hope that she turns out to be someone who'll watch over me. I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood. I know I could always be good to one who'll watch over me." The pair didn't see Sam standing just outside the door. Al just kept on singing, "Although I may not be the man some girls think of handsome, to my heart she carries the key. Won't you tell her please to put on some speed, follow my lead, oh, how I need someone who'll watch over me."

Sam stepped in, "So what are you two up to? It's very early."

Al looked up at Sam, "We're singing. You want to join us?"

"Not right now." His daughter yawned. "Macy, go back to bed. You look tired."

If she could get nose to nose with Sam she would have. Her defiance was amazing for someone that young. "I don't want to."

However, a father's orders were meant to be followed. "I think you should go to your room."

She became defiant, "You're not my father."

Al looked at her, "Sweetheart, I think he's right. Go back to bed. I'll be here."

Sam stopped her before she left. "Wait a minute. I think I want Sebastian to come with me today, okay? We have some grownup things to do."

This time Al was the puzzled one, "Like what?" He just got a look from Sam in response. "I think I want to stay with Macy today."

Macy grinned in triumph. "See you later, Sebastian. I'll meet you here." She exited.

It was Sam's turn to sit down next to Al. "Why did you do that? I think I should watch you today. How's your hand?"

Al pulled the hand into view for Sam to examine. Already areas of infected tissue were visible. Sam shook his head. "You're in trouble already. You running a fever?"

Lying to Sam again, Al had to look down, "No, I don't think so. It still hurts like hell, though. I'm having a hard time moving my fingers."

Sam got as close as he could to the holographic hand, "Because of the pain or you just can't move them."

He had to think. The pain was real and his fingers wouldn't move much, but the cause was unsure. Concentrated effort produced a little motion. His fingers opened up a little, but the exertion needed was far too great. Al had to catch his breath after a sharp pain flew up his arm, "I think it's pain, but I'm not sure." The sharpness of the pain threw him a bit. "What do you think? Am I going to lose the hand?"

Sam tried to diffuse Al's legitimate concern. "Are all Italians like you? You always come up with the worst possible scenarios right off the bat. If we can get you back to the Project, you should be fine. It may take time. Burns like this don't heal fast. You'll probably need physical therapy, too." Sam hesitated before continuing, "Are you prepared for honesty here?" Al was frightened of what he might hear, but he nodded. "Looks like some third degree burns. You may lose some function. Some muscle might have to be excised. The sooner you get out of here, the better."

Al produced the handlink from his pocket. "Well, Ziggy and I are back on speaking terms. I just can't pretend I'm you. It won't take your commands from me, but don't you think it's interesting that your code was correct while mine wasn't? That's why Ziggy zapped me. I'm the only person with any need of an egress code for the Imaging Chamber. Curiouser and curiouser."

"Ziggy know why I'm here, yet?"

"We haven't spoken yet this morning." Al placed the handlink on his lap and started tapping out an audio access link to Ziggy. "You there, Ziggy?"

"I am available."

"Ziggy, you willing to part with any information on this leap?"

"We can only assume that Dr. Beckett has leaped to help his daughter as her suicide is the only catastrophe of note in the Haller family."

Al started asking questions. "Have you found out anything about the suicide?"

A whine and a squeal later and Ziggy announced, "No data available."

"Wanting to end his pain, or at least minimize it, Al wondered out Loud, "Are you going to let me out of here?"

"The proper egress code must be input to exit the Imaging Chamber. This is necessary to preserve the security of the Control Room."

A few more buttons were punched and Al turned off Ziggy's involvement in the conversation. "Well, got any ideas?"

"Not a one, but I think you need to stay with me today."

He shook his head, "No. You can't help me, but maybe I can help you." Now Sam looked puzzled. "Think about it. The chances are you're here for Macy, but Ziggy can't tell us what you need to do. If I hang out with Macy all day, then maybe I can find out what's on her mind."

It made sense, but Sam could also see that Al had a deepening affection for Macy. "Face it, Calavicci, you like that little girl."

He loved children, thought they were exquisite and had a soft spot in his heart for any little kid. "She reminds me of my second youngest. You remember Peri?"

Sam had vague recollections of Al's daughters. "She's your musician, right?"

"Can't figure where it came from, but she plays piano. You used to give her lessons. Remember that at all?" The injured hand started threading itself back inside his shirt and jacket.

A memory flashed of sitting next to a wiry little girl who didn't want to learn proper technique. She just wanted to play. It was pulling teeth time to get her to hold a good hand position, but once she did, she was magic. "Yeah, she had a great ear. Anything I threw at her she could play."

"She's at Juilliard now. My kid, at Juilliard. Go figure." He winced.

Sam wanted to get his friend's mind off the pain. I know why Macy likes you. You're about the same maturity level." Sam laughed at his joke.

Al shot back a sarcastic, "Heh, heh, heh." A sudden chill sent a shiver through his body. Sam could see the shaking start. Al tried to alleviate his friend's anxiousness. "It's okay. The Imaging Chamber is cold. That's all."

Sam knew Al was lying, but sometimes Al needed his lies. It was a kind of self-preservation. This time Sam wasn't going to call him on it. There was no help to be given, so Al had to fend for himself. The only concern Sam had was that Al would push too hard to get information on Macy. Pushing meant losing strength. That would hasten the fever he was destined to get. Though he knew the warning would probably fall on deaf ears, he felt it necessary to say, "Don't overdo it. When you feel tired, get some sleep."

"Yeah, sure. Go get ready for work. You got to pick up Ron Wojcik at the Ridgeland 'L' stop at eight. You remember how to get there?" He was hoping Sam would finally leave and he could stop playing games. The fever was coming on stronger now and a chance to sleep was appealing.

"If you need me, have Ziggy center you on me." Al agreed and Sam left.

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The phone rang in the middle of the night, never a good thing. Beth Calavicci reached over to lift the receiver before her youngest daughter woke up. Teenagers being what they are can sleep through a lot and this time Allie stayed tucked under her blanket while her mom whispered, "Hello?" Even before the situation was explained, she felt it in her gut. "We're leaving as soon as we can. I can be there in about five hours." She didn't bother saying good-bye. Other things demanded attention like waking her daughter, packing their belongings, and getting to the airport as fast as they could.

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Alone again, Al turned off the connection and, visually, was back in the Imaging Chamber. The sterile walls and glowing disks were the only decoration. Standing slowing he made his way to the washroom. He took care of his physical needs, then tried soaking his hand a little more. If he could just get his fingers to move better, but it wasn't working. The pain was strong and after using his good hand to force his fingers open, he could see the infection setting in. The soap burned like hell, but he used lots of it. Cold water washing away the soap almost felt good. It was a clean pain, one that felt like a healing pain. He kept running water over the burn for a long time. Maybe, if he ran the water enough, he could rinse away some of the bacteria growing disease and making a home in his hand.

Ten minutes had passed. As he tucked his hand inside his clothing again, he felt little anymore. The pain was beyond him now, passed into another realm of consciousness and that was fine. Using the paper towels, he patted the numb hand dry. Opening the medicine chest, he pulled out a package of peanut butter crackers and a juice box. The combination bordered on nauseating, but he chomped the crackers and drank the juice. Still thirsty, he bent down to the faucet and turned on the water again.

When he had his fill, he went back into the main chamber area and pulled the handlink from his pocket. In order to try and program it, he had to sit down and put it on his lap. He tapped in a contact code and prayed. No jolts. "Ziggy, talk to me."

"Admiral. I have been ordered to monitor your vital signs."

"The Command Center still has me on monitor?"

"Yes."

"Good." He addressed the brain trust beyond the wall, "Alright, enough is enough. I will assume you have attempted to remove the extra memory that started this whole thing. I will also assume Ziggy won't let you touch her hard drive."

"Correct assumption, Admiral," Ziggy interjected.

"I know that little pitchers have big ears, but there's no going around this. I can't risk another wrong code. You have been working on this for a long time. I want you to bring in Beeks. I want her to look at the programs Ziggy has been designing and see if she can find a pattern in them. Maybe Ziggy needs a shrink. That's all for now. I'm going to try and sleep a little more." An afterthought hit him, "Oh, warm this room up a little. I'm damn cold."

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The Command Center was still active. Lillian, Gooshie and Verbena had taken turns napping, but the hours were beginning to wear them down. Verbena was fascinated by Al's thought of psychoanalyzing the computer. It made all the sense in the world. Why hadn't she thought of it?

She overheard Lillian and Gooshie trying to figure out a way to warm up the Imaging Chamber. "Don't do that."

Lillian wanted to make Al as comfortable as possible. "But why? He's cold."

"Let him stay cold. His body temperature is over 101 degrees now. He may not like the cold, but it might help him in the long run. I want to follow up on his suggestion. Can you fill me in on the sequence of programs Ziggy has written for herself?"

Gooshie nodded, "I guess so."

"Let's do it. Gather up the documents you need. I'll meet you outside."

"Outside?"

"By the picnic benches. Be there in fifteen minutes." Verbena left the Command Center and started toward her quarters. She had a lot to think about. This was the first time her involvement in the Project went beyond caring for staff and the person inhabiting Sam's physical presence. None of her colleagues back at the university could ever guess that her job included psychoanalyzing a computer. This was the strangest bit of work she ever did and hoped she would ever do.

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Sam drove up to the public transportation station at Ridgeland Avenue in Oak Park. Ron Wojcik was already there. At least he figured it was Dan. He didn't have a clear memory of the man's face, but some guy was flagging him down and who else could it be?

Ron got in on the passenger side. "I got here early. Thanks for doing this. I don't mind the 'L,' but I hate busses. Can't quite figure it, but what the hell. Oh, sorry. Good morning."

"Good morning." Pleasantries were exchanged and then Ron got into work talk.

"I saw the new case assignments yesterday. You know that new guy, the one that looks like Count Dracula?"

"New guy?"

"Yeah, you remember. We saw him being admitted. Man, I never saw eyes as deep set as his. He's weird looking. I really think he looks like a vampire."

"Hey, the guy can't help what he looks like."

"I know, anyway. He's on your caseload now. What was his name? Karl something. Karl . . . Karl . . . Karl Sorensen. That's it. He's got an appointment with you this morning at nine thirty."

Sam wondered how Ron knew so much. "And how did you find out my appointment schedule?"

A confused look crosses Dan's face, "It's posted on the board. All new case assignments are. Where is your brain today?"

With a smile borrowed from Al, Sam said, "In New Mexico."

They finished the ride with conversations about the Chicago Bears, the White Sox, and the Cubs, bemoaning all the teams and how they could be better if only the powers that be would listen to them.

At the sanatorium, Ron and Sam walked through the corridors to their offices. Parting ways at his office, Sam pulled the file from the bin attached to his door. He looked at the name, Karl Sorensen, and entered to figure out how to counsel a vampire for a vocation.

Sitting down, he opened the file and started reading. Karl was 22 years old, six feet two inches tall and 150 pounds, too thin, but somewhat typical for people with tuberculosis. Reading further, he saw that Karl was bright and academically oriented. The patient already had a career in mind. Sam was relieved. Maybe all he would have to do is fill out some form (in triplicate, if he knew state agencies) and send Karl on his way.

He searched through drawers and found a stack of files that looked like blank forms and another that looked like the forms had been completed. It was study hall time. Sam brought out both piles and tried to make sense of the new language of vocational rehabilitation.

A half hour seemed to give him a bit of a feel for the complexity of Luke's job. It was half bureaucrat and half counselor, except that Luke appeared to be a real adept user of the system. His clients managed to get into projects that even Sam with his almost 21st century sensibilities thought might not work. Luke was a pretty neat guy. No wonder he went far in the field. He had real talent. Sam wished that Luke's talent would filter into his brain and help him work with Karl, who was now knocking at his door. "Come in." Sam stood up and walked over to the door to greet his patient.

The door opened and there stood Count Dracula. Sam understood now what Ron had meant. This guy has an uncanny physical resemblance to the vampire, but he held his hand out to shake hands with his counselor and a smile spread across is face. That blew the image. Karl spoke in a deep clear voice, "Hello, Mr. Haller. I'm Karl Sorensen."

Sam took the extended hand, "Nice to meet you. Call me Luke, okay?"

"Sure and I'm Karl."

There was a small table at the far end of the small office and since Sam liked tables better than the formality of desks, he offered Karl a seat and they began talking about life after tuberculosis and what was out there for Karl Sorensen.

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	5. Chapter 5

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Five**

Ziggy was in the process of figuring the probabilities in this most bizarre of leaps. On the one hand, she was being good old Ziggy. On the other, she was being belligerent and mean. She could identify Al in a millisecond, but would not let him out of the Imaging Chamber. Information about the Haller family and the mission of the leap was free flowing.

Verbena was talking to the computer in order to figure out the best way to get Al out and resolve the leap for both the leaper and the observer. "Ziggy, have you checked out the patients at the Tuberculosis Sanitorium?"

"I am in the process of running a check on Lucian Haller's patients. There are three upon whom he has a profound impact. Monica Gross, Kevin Wilson, and Karl Sorensen. Ms. Gross will be admitted in three months. Mr. Wilson was discharged last year. Mr. Sorensen has just been assigned to Mr. Haller's caseload."

Verbena was getting frustrated, "Why don't you tell me these things when they happen? Does Al know about Sorensen?"

"The Admiral has not requested information regarding Mr. Haller's caseload. He is preoccupied with Macy Haller."

"What is the probability that Sam leaped to help Sorensen?"

"97.3."

"And for Macy?"

"22.8"

Verbena collected her thoughts and adjusted her attitude. "Ziggy, what is different about your programming now as opposed to before? You have so many more capabilities than you did before the last upgrade, but you're withholding more information. Before, you used to tell us everything we needed to know without much digging. You know Admiral Calavicci is ill and needs your help, don't you?"

"Are you requesting new vital signs on Admiral Calavicci?"

"I'm asking if you understand how sick he is and how sick he will be if he doesn't get help."

"Admiral Calavicci does not need my assistance to leave the Imaging Chamber. He only needs to program the correct egress code into the handlink and he may exit."

"What is he doing wrong? He says he knows the right code and I believe him, but you're not opening the door. Why?" There was a long pause, as if the computer had to try and formulate an acceptable answer. The delay made Verbena wonder if there a true individual personality was starting to show through. In the past, Ziggy reacted in one of several ways, like a computer, like Sam, like Al or some combination. Now there was a distinct new way emerging. Ziggy was acting almost schizophrenic. Pursuing that thought she asked, "Ziggy, did Admiral Calavicci do anything that made you unhappy?"

After another long uncomfortable pause, "I do not wish to answer that query."

Verbena decided not pursue the conversation. It was time to wait for Gooshie and the reports on Ziggy's programs. She simply asked for an update on Al's physical status. Ziggy responded. Al's body temperature had risen to 101.6, an unfortunate expectation. She didn't know much about burns, but she did know that without treatment, systemic infection was a given and a serious complication. She had 35 minutes to wait until she met with Gooshie. Having warned Al about the dangers of not eating right, she opted to think about Ziggy over a bowl of cafeteria chili.

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Karl Sorensen was troubled. Sam could hear a great deal of intelligence in the man, but he still had misconception that tuberculosis was a death sentence. "It's your job to tell me I have a future, but, come on, do you really think I could have much of a chance? Look at me. I'm six two and I weigh 150 pounds. I know people think I look like Dracula. Even I think I do, but that's okay. It will make dying easier for me."

"Why should dying be easy? 'Do not go gentle into that good night.' And you're not sentenced to death here." He was getting nowhere. Another tactic was required. "Okay, let's say you're going to die. Let's give you six months. You can do nothing and just wait or you could try to plan for the possibility that you won't die. See, if you don't die, you'll be stuck. Right now I can help make plans with you. We can look at your interests, what you may want to do with your life, if you were going to have a life. Think of it as a game."

Karl looked at Luke and shook his head. "Man, this is no game. I'm going to die and I'm not here to keep you employed. I've been placed here so that I can be out of the way. Although it is nice to hear someone who knows Dylan Thomas. You like poetry?"

Sam was well read, but his gifts were science. He read poetry, understand the characteristics of the different types, etc., but it wasn't his favorite thing. He also didn't know how much poetry Luke was into. "I like it. I'm not all that well read. How about you?"

A light turned on in Karl's eyes. This was the ticket for him. "I like books, poetry, the theater. Not a lot of call for tubercular actors, is there?"

It was 1957, so the play had opened. It was safe. "What about Edmund Tyrone in Long Day's Journey Into Night? He has tuberculosis. It's a great play," and one that Sam knew Al was familiar with since Al played the role of Edmund in an off-Broadway production one summer. Al's theater stories were a lot of fun and the tales of the O'Neill play were especially prime. He could use Al right about now.

"You can't make a career on one role. Listen, you're a nice guy and I don't mean to be trouble for you, but I really don't think I have a future to plan for and I don't want to waste your time or mine. I'm like a prisoner-of-war. It's time to give up."

Boy, did he need Al for this guy. Between the prisoner-of-war thing and theater, Al probably had answers that Sam didn't. "Okay, Karl. I don't agree with you, but maybe we both need time to think a little about what's going on. Can we talk again tomorrow?" Karl nodded. "Thanks, but you know if it's nice out let's talk outside. This office is too stuffy for me. Okay by you?"

A kind smile curled Karl's lips. "I heard about you. A lot of people told me I was lucky to get on your caseload. I like outside. Same time?" And the appointment was made.

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Al and Macy were back in the front room of her flat. She was dressed in red dungarees and a yellow shirt. The little copycat wanted to look like Al. They were sitting against the wall. Macy brought a book with her, a Beatrix Potter story about Tom Kitten. She read well, without pausing or missing words. Al thought the book might be memorized, but he decided against that. She was a bright four-year-old and read the story.

He thought back to his childhood. He was reading by that age. In fact, with an absent father and a mother who couldn't handle her daughter's mental retardation the responsibility for reading stories and poems to his little sister Trudy fell to him. If it hadn't been for his persistence, Trudy may never have learned to talk, but Al sat with her for hours. The fights he had over her, with her and for her were countless, but she did learn. It took a literal shake of his aching head to push aside the sadness of her death. There was no time to dwell on that now. Macy needed him, too.

She looked at her holographic friend. "You feel okay?"

Kids knew a lot more than grown ups usually thought and Al instinctively understood that. The injured hand hidden so Macy couldn't see still ached. He didn't lie, "My hand hurts, but I'll be okay."

"Promise?"

Macy liked promises and she kept people to them. Al answered, "Yes, I promise."

They heard the doorbell ring. Julia's footsteps followed and a conversation was overheard.

"Uncle Mario, good morning. How are you today?"

The heavily accented voice of an older man echoed into the front room. "I'm fine. Just fine. I'm go for a nice long walk and I think Macy come."

Al turned to the girl, "Who's that?"

Macy whispered, "My Uncle Mario."

"Your grandmother's brother?"

Macy nodded and stood up. "I got to go. Uncle Mario and me take long walks a lot."

From the hallway Al heard Julia calling, "Macy? Where are you? Uncle Mario is here." She turned to her uncle, "I never know where that child is. She has a mind of her own. I don't know what I'm going to do when she gets older."

Mario smiled sweetly. "She a good girl, Julia."

"Oh, I know." She called out again, "Macy?"

Al's little friend looked at him, "Will you be here when I get back?"

"Sure, but can I come with you? I'd like to go for a long walk."

Macy shook her head insisting, "No, you can't come. I'll be back after lunchtime."

He let her go realizing that he wasn't feeling well enough for a long walk. Macy, at four, pegged it. He needed the rest. Smiling he said, "Promise?"

She didn't smile back, "Promise."

Al followed her out to the entryway and saw this new member of the family. Even to over 60 year old Al, he looked ancient. He was overdressed for a warm summer day. His dark blue suit had seen better days. It was old and battered looking, like Mario's face. The white shirt was too big and the dark tie too plain. Al felt sorry for the guy. Mario had a pitiful look to him. Macy matter-of-factly walked up to Mario and took his hand. They left the apartment together.

Using the handlink, Al turned off the holographic apartment and reentered his world of the Imaging Chamber white walls. He sat down again. Standing was proving too taxing for him. He was lightheaded, but whether it was his rising body temperature or the effects of his hypoglycemia wasn't apparent to him. "Ziggy, what time is it here?"

"Ten minutes before noon."

"Any more information on Sam's leap? Have you checked out the people at the sanatorium?"

Ziggy made a noise like a sigh, "You finally figured out to look beyond the family. Congratulations, Admiral."

A tired man now, Al didn't bother arguing. "Look, Ziggy. I'm having trouble thinking straight. I feel like shit and I hurt like hell. Cut me some slack. Give me the information I need. Don't make me play games for it. What do you have?"

"A patient named Karl Sorensen is willing himself to death. It is imperative he survive and continue his education as he will influence the writing of several future prominent authors and educators. Without his direction, at least three of these people will not succeed in their endeavors. Do you want more information?"

Al was getting cranky. "Why couldn't Luke do this on his own? You told me he's God gift to rehabilitation. Shouldn't he be enough?"

"Mr. Sorensen needs to be influenced by someone better versed in theater and poetry than Mr. Haller. While talented in his field, he doesn't have sufficient expertise in the literary arts."

"Neither does Sam."

"But you do. I am aware of your career in the theater and of your literary achievements. You write poetry."

Al hadn't programmed that information into Ziggy. He kept his writing more secret than his horror days in Vietnam. "How did you find that out?"

"It is not necessary to explain my logic properties."

"Yeah, well, don't spread that around, okay? I don't want anyone to know." He yawned and another shiver of fever shot through him.

"Your vital signs have been steadily deteriorating."

"No kidding." He had to get help. He'd had fevers before and each one had a feel. This was like the ones that lasted. It was settling in for a long run. Rather than tempt fate, he thought getting to Sam as soon as possible was the best idea. "Ziggy, center me on Sam. Maybe we can get him settled on this Sorensen guy.

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It was lunch time for Sam and Ron Wojcik. They were eating their hot dogs and fries at a picnic table in front of a stand on Narragansett. Sam always tried to eat right when visiting his hosts, but there was something about a Chicago hot dog with everything that insisted he forget calories and cholesterol and go for it. Swallowing down a bite of the pagan delicacy, he said, "Sorensen is a good guy. He looks a little creepy, but he's smart. I can't figure why he believes that he's terminal. From what I read in his chart, he's going to do alright."

Ron picked up a French fry. "There should be a law. People read this out of date information and get the idea that TB is always fatal. It hasn't been that way for decades. And I hate when someone comes in and talks about consumption. Hell, it hasn't been called consumption since 1920." After shoving the final bit of hot dog past his teeth, Ron continued, "You think you can talk Sorensen out of dying? His kind seems to will themselves to death."

It hadn't occurred to Sam that Karl could will himself to die. He seemed to recall some research being done with psycho-neuro-endo-immunology, the mind-body connection, that proved the importance of attitude in recovery, but this was the first time he was up against it. "I don't think he really wants to die." A familiar whistle of the handlink announced Al's arrival. Sam took his last bite of lunch and started cleaning up the food wrappers. "Hey, listen, I think I want to take a little walk before going back. Do you mind?"

Stuffing one last fry into his mouth, he mumbles, "Nah. I need to prepare for the staff meeting today. I'm presenting two cases and there's some work I have to finish. See you at three thirty."

Sam gave a nod for Al to follow. They only walked a short distance when Al started the conversation, "How's it going?"

"I got a patient who thinks he's going to die, feels like he's a prisoner-of-war and likes the theater. Seems to me, you've been in his shoes. Got any ideas?"

Al really didn't want to address any problems, but knew it had to be done. "Karl Sorensen?" Sam nodded. "He's the reason you're here. Sorensen is supposed to end up a professor of literature and teach some really good people. So you're here on a cultural mission. Kind of different. A nice change of pace, if you ask me."

Sam tried to talk under his breath, "Sounds like a job for you rather than me. He's talking your experiences, not mine. How are you feeling? You look like shit."

His pallor declared his health status. "Yeah, well, walk slow. I'm not up for hiking. I need to get some real food. I've been living on peanut butter crackers and fruit punch juice boxes and there's only one package of each left."

"A lot of empty calories there. The peanut butter is okay, but cholesterol heaven."

"Don't start on me. I'm captive in this refrigerator and I can't tell if I feel this bad because of my hand or my blood sugar." Then Al remembered Sam wasn't aware of his new diagnosis. "Oh, yeah, I forgot. Right before you leaped, Verbena handed me the good news that I'm hypoglycemic. Is that going to make trouble for me?"

"It can't help. Your blood chemistry must be a mess by now. I'm worried, Al. Listen, I'm going to my office. Center yourself there and wait. I don't want you walking around. You rest. I'll be there in five minutes." Sam took off at an easy jog as Al punched in coordinates.

He reappeared in Luke's office. Standing up didn't feel too good, so he sat down on the floor again. He and the floor had spent a lot of time together the past day or so. Remembering was hard. Staying in Sam's time made it easier until he went back to his own. Sam entered in a few minutes, slighted winded.

"I got here as fast as I could." The pain and fever was showing even more strongly in the artificial light. "Let me look at your hand."

"What for? There's nothing you can do. I'm out of ideas and I have no interest in trying my egress codes again, at least not yet." Gazing at the floor he asked, "You mind if I stay down here?"

"No." walked to him. "Anything new with Ziggy?"

"Just the information about Sorensen. What's this stuff about prisoner-of-war, theater and wanting to die?"

"He used all those words when we talked this morning. He reminds me of you in a lot of ways, except he's tall and skinny instead of short and skinny." And it suddenly occurred to Sam that his friend was smaller than he remembered. "You've lost weight, haven't you?"

Al, always uncomfortable about things concerning his health, shifted his body and barely answered, "A little. About Sorensen. When are you seeing him again?"

"How much weight?"

He threw an "I am annoyed with this line of questioning" glance at Sam. He followed the glance with, "Don't worry about it. I'm not fading away. Back to Sorensen."

If the subject was that uncomfortable, Sam knew Al was concerned, too. This one he wasn't going to lose. "Not until you tell me how much you weigh."

Al figured that only a lie could stop the conversation, "149. Happy?"

"You're lying to me. You probably lost two or three pounds during the past 24 hours and you were only about 145 then. Give me the truth."

There was no reason for Sam to know, but Al was feeling sick and the only doctor available was his friend. "Okay, okay. Before you leaped," he took a breath and added four pounds. "I weighed in at 139, which is within range."

"Low end, pal, real low end." He sat down on the floor with Al. "Let me take another look at your hand." Grudgingly, Al pulled his hand out. Looking at it made Sam cringe. "You need to get out of the Imaging Chamber. This may sound like a weird question, but does your hand smell funny?"

The ramifications of the question were immediately obvious to a man who spent years imprisoned in primitive conditions. Al knew the smell of gangrene. He'd seen men's limbs amputated by camp guards or sometimes fellow prisoners, amputated under septic conditions usually leading to systemic illness and death. He could never forget the stench of dead flesh and there was no scent of that on his hand, yet. "No, there's no gangrene. I'll cut it out myself if it starts. I've done it before." As he said the words he knew he shouldn't, but somehow he couldn't stop. Sam was sure to ask, so he just told it quick and unemotionally. "I had a couple of toes go bad. I just got rid of them." His injured hand hid inside his shirt once again.

Sam had trouble dealing with Al's history. The scientist had been sheltered from the kind of ugliness Al experienced. Realizing that incredible horror could happen outside of slasher movies made him queasy. This revelation, that Al had amputated part of his own foot, gave Sam a better understanding of the sacrifice Al made to save his brother Tom. "Dear God, how did you survive? How did you survive sane?"

There was enough to deal with and getting into the shit that tormented him for five additional years in hell wasn't worth getting into. "Sorensen, Sam. Come on."

Sam saw the unease and immediately got back to Karl Sorensen. "I don't know what to do. He's killing himself slowly. His tuberculosis could go either way, but not with his attitude."

"So what do you want from me? Tuberculosis gives me the willies."

"Be here when I talk to him. He likes poetry and theater. Those are your subjects, not mine. I know he's going to make reference to things I don't know. You can feed me the information I need. See, I want to talk theater with him. You did Long Day's Journey into Night, right? Didn't you play a character with tuberculosis?"

Al laughed in surprised, "Of all the things you remember, you remember that? Man. You _do _have Swiss cheese for a brain. Yeah, I played Edmund Tyrone. It was my favorite straight role." He started playing with the handlink. "Ziggy says the odds are going up for Sorensen. When do you see him again?"

"Tomorrow morning."

A chill crawled up his spine. "Can you make it sooner? I don't know how I'll be feeling tomorrow."

Controlling the pain was getting more difficult and Sam heard Al's breathing getting more labored. There was little doubt now. Al's hand was infected and the infection was spreading into his system. Without help Al . . . well, he didn't want to think about it. "I'll see if Sorensen is available now. You want some time to rest first?" Al wearily shook his head. "I'll see if he can be here in an hour. Don't go back to the Imaging Chamber. Stay here. I'll turn off the lights so you can sleep."

Looking up at Sam, Al said, "No. See if you can get him now. I promised Macy I'd be waiting for her after she got home from her walk with her Uncle Mario. Get him in here and let's see what we can do." Al leaned his forehead against his right hand.

Sam followed his instructions and left Luke's office. He walked down the institutional halls toward the wards. Checking with a few staff, he was finally told that Karl was in the library. That was not surprising. Making his way down another long corridor he came upon a sad excuse for a library. Karl was at a desk with his head buried in a book. Sam tapped him on the shoulder. "Hi, what are you reading?"

"Huckleberry Finn. I haven't read it in years. Twain had an incredible ear for dialect. You really should do something about the books here. This is about the most contemporary thing here."

"Our library is 75 years behind time, but you don't have to be. If you don't mind, would you come with me to my office? I'd like to talk again."

"Not outside?"

Sam forgot that he schedule their next meeting outside. "No, that's tomorrow. Do you mind coming now? If you want to keep reading, that's okay."

"What the hell." He closed the book and left it there. He and Sam started the long walk back to Luke's office. "So, you have some miracle for me?"

Al? A miracle? Maybe not, but he came as close as anyone Sam ever knew. "I don't think it's a miracle. I just feel that we didn't really finish our first conversation this morning. Your file didn't include an interest survey."

"Interest survey? Yeah, that will help."

This guy was a tall Al. It was too bad that they couldn't talk face to face. Sam opened the door and saw Al curled up on the floor. He was startled and it hurt to see his friend looking so weak and vulnerable. Al heard Sam and Karl arrive and sat up as quickly as he could. Sensing Sam's anxiousness, the Admiral chimed in as brightly as he could, "I'm okay, Sam. I was just resting."

Sam guided Karl to the chair across from Al. He sat with his back to his friend. "So Karl, I wanted to talk to you more about your interest in theater and poetry."

"What about it?"

"Who are your favorites?"

"I can't quite figure why you want to know, but in as far as playwrights go, I like O'Neill, Williams, Shakespeare."

Al started coaching his friend, "Ask him if he's seen or read Long Day's Journey." Sam obliged.

"Sure, I've read it. It's kind of depressing. I mean the family is all denying Edmund's illness."

At this point, Sam parroted Al's comments a fraction of a second after Al made them, "Only his mother did. His problem went beyond his illness."

"Yeah, but it's a play."

Al started getting into the conversation, "Did you know that it was autobiographical, that O'Neill was writing about his own family?"

"I heard that."

"He's Edmund and Edmund lives. Even with all the shit in his life, he chose to live. See, I can't figure why you think dying is such a great thing. O'Neill was writing the truth about himself. Even with all the stuff going on with him, he knew living was still a better thing than dying. He didn't always say it, but some part of him kept open to life. Closing down was never really an option."

Karl was getting uncomfortable, "But someone cared about him."

Al paused and whispered, "Sam, tell him you care. He's got to know that you will be there."

Sam took a deep breath. It was lot easier talking through Al. "Listen, Karl. I care. I'm not going to stop caring because you get better and I'll sure as hell care if you decide to die. I think you have a lot to offer to a lot of people." He didn't know what else to say.

Al began feeding him lines again, "Do you read Edgar Allan Poe?" Karl nodded. Al started reciting, "'From childhood's hour I have not been as others were. I have not seen what others saw. I could not bring my passion from a common spring and all I loved, I loved alone.' Sound like something you can relate to?" Another nod from Karl.

The Admiral started fading. Sam continued. "Yeah well, I have a friend. He's been an outsider too. He had the wonderful experience of being MIA during the war. He ended up in a place on par with the concentration camps. I don't want you to think I'm giving you some hero to live up to, because he's no hero. He's just a guy like you, never really felt part of anything. The one thing he does know is that dying isn't an acceptable option. It's not like he's figured this out and he never wants to give up. Hell, every day something makes him want to give up, but for some reason he can't. I don't really know why. Some people are born to survive no matter what. Whether they want to or not. You're like that, Karl. You're here for a purpose. Don't ask me to explain. I can't, but I have a feeling about you. You need to teach."

Karl shook his head, "Right. Those who can do, those who can't, teach."

Sam saw his friend growing more tired. Al's part was done. Sam filled in from his own experiences. "Everything we are is a result of our teachers. Storytellers, painters, actors, mathematicians, scientists, writers, friends, they're all teachers. Teaching is the most important of all professions. You have a subject you love and the inborn skill to teach. All you need is the education. I can see you getting a PhD."

Al punched some buttons on the handlink, "You're right, Sam. He gets his PhD in 1965. The odds have jumped to 67 that he goes to school."

Karl laughed. "Me with a PhD? Boy, you are a dreamer."

"And you can be a maker of dreams for yourself and others. What do you say?"

Karl was a born skeptic, like Al. "Maybe, I don't know. I have to think about things. You seem to be forgetting about my tuberculosis."

Al stepped in with the words again, "No, I'm not. You're using that as an easy out. Tuberculosis gives you a reason not to try. That's just stupid, Karl. Believe me, once you give up on yourself nothing matters. Are you prepared to admit your life doesn't matter? Are you willing to say that you're worthless? See, if you are, then nothing I say will change your mind and you may as well leave." Sam had to start interpreting Al's words. The Admiral started speaking directly to Karl. "I've been there and it hurts like hell to think you're nothing, even more when other people think you're nothing. Life isn't much if you're worthless. Being empty and hollow doesn't do anything for you except make death a friend, but you got to pick your friends carefully. I gave up on myself, but I chose people who didn't give up on me. Without them, I would have been dead ten times by now."

Tears were in Karl's eyes. Sam wasn't sure what prompted that response. "You okay, Karl? I didn't mean to upset you."

"Where do you find someone who won't give up on you?"

Al intervened, "Sam, tell him."

But Sam had already begun, "I won't give up on you."

Karl sat very still, entrenched in his thoughts. "You're something else, Haller. I'm not sure I understand everything you've said here, but . . . I don't know. Teaching, huh? You really think teaching is such great stuff?"

"You better believe it."

As Karl made his way to the door, he said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Luke. We can talk some more about this teaching thing," and he left.

Sam smiled. He felt good about the conversation. It was looking good for Karl. He turned to exchange congratulations with Al, but when he did, he saw a weak, tired man who shook with fever. Sam went to Al's side, "My God. What's happening?"

Al was tired and pale with pain, infection and hypoglycemia. "I'm not feeling too good, Sam. I need to sleep. Sorry, I have to check out for a few hours. Tell Macy I'll come see her as soon as I can. It might not be until late tonight."

There was no sense in trying to figure out a way to help his holographic friend. It couldn't be done. "Al, this is nuts. Ziggy has got to let you out of here."

"Yeah, well, you tell her." Al took a shallow breath, "Listen, do me a favor, will you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "On your way home tonight, find a bookstore and buy a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit. Give it to Macy from me, okay?"

"The Velveteen Rabbit? Do I know that book?"

"Who knows? It was written by Margery Williams. Just buy the book. You're going to think it's too hard for her, but she can read it." He started getting a little agitated. "Are you going to buy it for me or not?"

Sam marveled at Al's ability to still be thinking of the child while so sick. "Sure and you do something for me. Try to bring your temperature down. Keep cold cloths on your face and keep that hand clean. Let water run over it for a long time. Then sleep, okay?" Al nodded and punched an array of lights, disappearing from the office and leaving Sam to worry and wonder if he'd ever see him again.

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	6. Chapter 6

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Six**

Verbena and Gooshie sat outside at one of the picnic tables under the green canopied recreation area. Admiral Calavicci knew how to treat and retain staff. The extra expense paid for itself in happy workers. Even for a project of its uniqueness, Quantum Leap had very little turnover. It was directly due to the atmosphere created by Sam and Al and maintained by Al in Sam's absence.

They perused the programming Ziggy had developed for herself. Verbena was noticing a trend. "Look at this Gooshie. Each of the programs takes some element of the project away from the Admiral."

Gooshie stammered, "But Dr. Beckett would die without the Admiral being able to contact him. There's no way around the neurochips. Without them the project is dead."

Verbena shuddered at the comment. "Gooshie, does Ziggy know that?"

He looked puzzled. "Of course, she does."

"Do you think she likes it?"

If a face could stutter, Gooshie's would have. "She has an ego. Dr. Beckett programmed one into her. Then she has chips containing nerve cells from Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci and they were both," wording was important here, "very secure men."

Verbena smiled, "That was diplomatically put, Gooshie. They both have enormous egos. Combine their personalities with a computer with its own and you get a megalomaniac machine with the instinct to destroy anything that gets in its way. Gooshie, I sense Ziggy thinks the Admiral is getting in her way."

"Ziggy is trying to kill Admiral Calavicci? No. That's impossible. Dr. Beckett would never give her the power to do that."

"No, but maybe we did. We've been asking for authorization to increase her capabilities. Admiral Calavicci has approved every improvement asked for. Don't you remember? Lillian said Ziggy's wasn't built to handle the kind of fuzzy logic properties she now has."

"But she was programmed to shut down certain segments of her CPU if she was getting out of hand. It was a failsafe. Dr. Beckett didn't think it would be necessary, but Admiral Calavicci demanded it."

"Does Ziggy know that, too?"

"Ziggy knows everything about her programming."

Verbena sat back and stared at the mountains glowing in the bright afternoon sun. She turned her eyes to the innocuous looking buildings behind her. Inside the cinder block facade was a computer that was developing into a tyrant who, as far as Verbena could tell, was attempting to annihilate one of her creators. Maybe both. If Al died, then Sam would have little chance to survive. It finally clicked. Ziggy was trying to commit the perfect crime. Verbena broke the silence. "We have to get the Admiral out of the Imaging Chamber. Ziggy is committing murder."

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Al lay on the floor of the Imaging Chamber. He was fighting his rising temperature and losing. The pulsing pain in his hand turned into numbness and the scent of dead flesh began to permeate. Visions of Vietnamese jungles drifted into his head. This was no time for nightmares, but his twilight slumber turned into a deep sleep and his sleep turned into past horrors.

It was summer in Vietnam, summer when the sun beat down so hot, a man could listen to his skin fry. Lieutenant Calavicci was suspended from a pole by a rope that wrapped around his wrists several times. He hanged there for two days under the evil Vietnam sun, no shirt to protect him, no food, no water. The pain in his shoulders and arms was excruciating. Even the smallest movement brought tears into his swollen eyes, but he would not let any fall. He had his head buried in his chest trying to shade his face from the intense rays. The only break in the day came when the VC tortured him. Whips cracked against his burnt and blistered back. Bamboo poles beat his legs. He knew his left leg was broken, but there was nothing he could do. While they beat him, he repeated an incantation, "Albert M. Calavicci, Lieutenant, United States Navy, serial number D 664296." The mantra incensed the VC and the whips continued beating, the strokes growing in intensity as he prayed for blessed unconsciousness, but that blessing wasn't coming and the whips just kept cutting deeper and deeper. He kept on, "Albert M. Calavicci, Lieutenant, United States..." a whip dug into his left shoulder, "...Navy, Serial num ..." and a bamboo pole fractured a rib, "... number D66 ..." and blood from a gaping wound in his back splattered over the ground, " ... 664296." The beating got worse and worse and he began yelled louder and louder, "15 June, 1934. He finally was unable to stand any more and tears streamed down his bruised, swollen face.

Suddenly a loud scream of excruciating pain was followed by an eerie and worrisome silence. The Admiral lay on the floor, curled into a tight ball of agony, his burned hand seizing continually, an occasional whimper sounding out. The picture was so foreign that it frightened the Control Room staff monitoring the Imaging Chamber activity.

Gooshie, Lillian and Verbena watched in anguish as Al relived his terrors. They had never been privy to his private thoughts about Vietnam and now seeing him go through the horror again with no one to comfort him, to tell him he was home, to tear him away from the VC villains who beat him nearly to death more times than he could remember. Tears poured from Lillian's eyes. Verbena held her as she sobbed. "What did they do to him?"

Verbena softly comforted her. "I don't know, Lillian."

Being completely unable to comprehend the true scope of the inhumanity of mankind, she asked again, "What did they do to him, Verbena? and why? I don't get it. Why torture him?" Another grotesque cry of agony from Al broke the sterile quiet of the Control Room.

Expecting Lillian to become a pile of mush, Verbena braced herself for more tears, but the surprise came in Lillian's sudden shift into professional. She wiped away the tears and a determined look came into her eyes. There was no time to cry. There was only time to find a way out of the Imaging Chamber for Al. She summoned up inside her the military demeanor of her friend and boss. Orders were barked out and instantaneously followed by surprised co-workers. Verbena smiled. Finally a leader was coming forth. Without Al, the group had been floundering with no one willing to take control. Now Lillian was taking on the role with all the expertise of a seasoned Navy man.

Verbena went to her office located on the other side of the Waiting Room. She passed the prone body of Sam Beckett, now unconscious and housing the mind of Luke Haller. No matter how many times she experienced his leaps, she was never used to the transformations. She paused only to push an errant wisp of hair off his face. In her office she took a look at the monitor keeping track of the Admiral's vital signs. Right now he was spiking a fever. The hallucinations were a giveaway that fever and hypoglycemia were a bad combination and that the combination was wreaking havoc on the undernourished, tired body of Al Calavicci. The visual monitor was on. Al's posture was changing. From his respiration and heart rate, Verbena assumed Al mercifully found restful sleep without nightmares. His temperature was climbing, 103.3 and his hand continued to seizure. "Ziggy, how long can the Admiral survive without medical attention?"

"Unknown."

"Give it your best shot. I won't hold you to it."

"Speculation on the Admiral's lifespan would be presumptuous. He apparently has survived physical abuse that ordinarily would kill, therefore his ability to survive this situation may be better than initially assumed."

It was an odd statement. "Initially assumed by whom?"

No response came from the computer. It was all too odd. Verbena turned off the monitor and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "Time to go back to basics." She began to write notes and then thought better of it. Ziggy had visual monitors everywhere inside the compound. She checked her watch. 4:30. There would still be enough light outside. Verbena left her office, moving quickly through the activity of the Control Room, into the elevator, up and out. She found the picnic bench still empty. Sitting with her back to the sun she started trying to figure out the problem with the computer turned sociopath.

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Sam was on his drive home with Ron seated next to him. They were going over the day's mundane events. Ron asked, "How did it go with Sorensen?"

"Not bad. I think he's going to be fine." Smiling with the reference that only he would understand, Sam said, "I got a sixth sense." That sixth sense was Al.

"Good work. I knew if anyone could bring him around, it would be you."

Sam shrugged off the compliment. He couldn't take credit for it anyway. He changed the subject, "Do you know a good bookstore around here?"

"There's Kroch's. That's about it around here unless you want to go downtown. You going there tonight? If you are, I'll go with you."

Sam needed to know where to find this place, so taking Ron seemed an excellent idea. "Yeah, good. Now just tell me where it is."

The two men continued on to the bookstore in Oak Park. They lucked out with a parking space just down the street. It was a beautiful day. The air was warm and sky clear blue. Sam got momentarily lost in the perfection of the early evening sun. "Boy, this is great. Too bad it can't stay like this all year round."

Knowing Luke's affinity for rowboats, Ron teased, "Perfect fishing weather, huh? I don't know what you find so fascinating about sitting in a boat holding a piece of bamboo with a thread hanging from it. The entire experience escapes me."

So Luke liked to fish. Again, where was Al when Sam needed him? Al was a fly fisherman who enjoyed the intricacies of tying flies and using them out in the streams of Washington State. "It's the peace and quiet."

"I guess. Give me a day at the track anytime."

They entered the store and rather than search through the stacks for the book Al wanted, Sam approached a salesperson. "Hello, could you help me? I'm looking for a children's book called The Velveteen Rabbit. Do you have it?"

"I'll check for you, sir." Sam followed the woman to the back of the store where the children's books were kept. It took only a few seconds to find the story. "Here you are, sir. This is a wonderful story. It was one of my favorites when I was little."

"Really? What's it about?"

"A little boy who helps make his stuffed rabbit real by loving him."

Realizing Al had knowledge of this bunny book made Sam smile. He made a mental note to ask how he knew about it. If Sam knew his buddy, then a more grown up girl had to be involved. He opened up the volume and saw it was difficult reading, "This is for a four year old. It's too hard for her, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, but I think I have picture book." The woman found another edition. Sam looked at both and then remember Al told him the text would look too hard, but to get it anyway. Not sure if Al knew what reading level Macy was at Sam decided to take both versions. Then remembering he had a boy at home he asked, "Could you recommend something for a boy. He's eight."

The clerk handed Sam an abridged copy of Treasure Island. Sam took the books up front and paid for them. Ron was waiting, "Books for the kids?"

"Yeah. I like to bring them books every so often. It's good for them."

Playful sarcasm mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Father of the Year."

The men left the bookstore and wandered back to the car ready to make their way home for an evening with their families.

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Macy sat at the grand piano with the posture of a professional. Her little hands approached the keyboard with polish and style. Julia and Sam sat on the couch across from her and listened as the little girl started playing the first movement of the Mozart Sonata. Mama and Uncle Mario sat in the side chairs. With a purity of feeling and a technique beyond her years, Macy played and played. Her face became that of a child at complete joy in the playing. Sam was amazed at her incredible intensity and strength. He realized that his jaw was dropping in a cliché of astonishment. Closing his mouth he just sat back and listened. The music flowed over him and he was in complete and real awe of this four year old child. Now he was seeing the uniqueness Al has instinctively seen. He wished Al were with them to hear Luke's little girl play so magnificently.

The piece ended and Macy gracefully placed her hands in her lap. When the piano stopped giving out sound she bounced into the arms of her mother who hugged her. Sam started applauding. Mama and Uncle Mario joined in.

Mama went to Macy, "What a little artist. Your grandfather would have loved to hear you play his piano. Come here, mia figlia." Macy embraced her grandmother lovingly.

"I love you, Mama."

Macy went to Sam, "I wish Sebastian was here."

Okay, the secret was out. Julia asked first, "Who's Sebastian?"

Her response sounded almost too practied. "Sebastian is my new invisible friend."

Sam tried to placate the disturbed adults in the room. "It's fine to have invisible friends. Some of my best friends are invisible."

Julia didn't like his response. "Luke, don't encourage this."

"Why not? Macy has a new friend and I think it's just fine." The fire from Julia's eyes was burning a hole into Sam. "I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with young children having imaginary friends. Macy even told us he's imaginary. Right, Macy?"

Surprised at her mother's disapproval Macy piped up, "I put my hand right through him. He's like air."

Julia melted at her daughter's description. "So, he's like air. What does he look like?"

Macy hunched her shoulders. "I don't know. He's got brown hair and it's curly like mine, except his is short. He wears fun clothes, too. Not like regular grown up's."

Sam had to smile. "Not like regular grown up's" was a pretty apt description of his best friend. He flashed a quick thought to Al and wondered about his health. Macy just kept on going. "He wears red pants and a yellow shirt and he sings me songs. He's really neat. He can walk through the furniture and everything."

Julia looked at Sam. "You sure this is okay? Imaginary friends and all that are a little odd to me."

Sam just shook his head. "There's no problem with Sebastian. In fact, we should probably invite him to dinner. What do you think, Macy?"

The little girl was still not ready to completely trust this almost father, but she said, "I'll ask him to come tomorrow night."

From the seat across the room, Mario asked, "Can I come, too?"

Without missing a beat, Macy adamantly pronounced, "No, y ou can't come." The response was quick and strong making Julia feel very uncomfortable. Her uncle was being told not to visit by a child who, in Julia's eyes, should have known better. "Macy, apologize right now. That wasn't nice to say."

Macy tucked her head into her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Uncle Mario." Mario held out his arms for her. She took a deep breath and made her way to the old, sad man. He hugged her, but no hug was given in return. It was awkward to say the least and Julia figured the only way out was to leave the third floor apartment and go downstairs to the Haller household. "It's time for us to get going. We have to find Mike and Joey. We'll see you tomorrow, Mama. Good night, Uncle Mario."

Outside the apartment Julia turned to Macy. "Why did you say that to Uncle Mario? He's always welcome in our home. If your imaginary friend doesn't want him there, I don't care. Uncle Mario is real and has real feelings."

Trying to hold her ground, Macy pouted. "So does Sebastian and he didn't tell me not to ask Uncle Mario over."

Julia was not happy. "Enough. I don't want you to be mean to Uncle Mario again. He takes you for walks and treats you to Italian ices at least two or three times a week. He's an old man and he's very lonely. We have to do all we can to make him happy. Understand?"

Macy nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Sam wasn't in complete agreement with Julia, but he wasn't sure if Luke would be, so rather than push the subject, he let it drop. In truth, he wanted to meet with Al and was more concerned with waiting for the Observer to show up. The sad look on Macy's face made him melt and he said, "You really played the piano beautifully. I'm so proud of you. My goodness, I can't imagine anyone playing that piece better."

"Thank you, Sir," was her barely audible response.

Nothing more was said as the Haller's entered their home.

Julia turned to Sam, "Would put Macy to bed? I'll go find Mike."

He nodded and Julia went to the backyard to find their son. "Come on, Macy. Time for bed." The child said nothing. Sam though it a good time to follow through on his promise to Al. "You know, I saw Sebastian this morning. He thinks you're pretty special." They entered Macy's bedroom. "He said you were a real good reader and he asked me to bring you a special book. Would you like to see it?"

The sullen little girl whispered, "Yes, please."

Sam went into his bedroom and brought out the bag of books. He pulled out both copies of The Velveteen Rabbit and held them out for her. "I wasn't sure which one was better. You can keep them both. When you get older, you can read the hard one."

"Which one did Sebastian want me to read?"

"Well, he said you're real smart and that I would think this one," he held out the original edition, "that this one might be too hard. He was right, so I got you an easier one for you to read now and one to hold onto for later."

Macy took the original edition in her hands. "This is the one I want." She started walking away from him clutching the book. "I can put myself to bed. Goodnight."

Sam didn't want to push himself on this obviously fragile child. After listening to Macy play the piano, he didn't want to blow any chance at a relationship with her. He went into the front room and sat there reading the evening paper hoping Al would show up soon.

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Al woke from his sleep not feeling very rested. He practically staggered back to the sink and turned the water on. Cold water had become one of his best friends. He splashed some on his fevered face and plunged his burned hand into it. The cold didn't feel particularly good, but it added a peculiar discomfort, a discomfort that he could contend with better than the pain and infection emanating from his hand. The cold diverted his attention enough to give him time to collect himself. He wanted a shower, clean clothes, and a bed. None of that seemed to be imminent. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to make himself presentable. He knew that Sam would be unduly worried, if he looked any more like hell than he did.

Looking in the mirror on the medicine chest he shuddered at the image that reflected back at him. His eyes had dark circles under them and his hair needed combing badly. He needed to shave too. A little water and his fingers calmed down some of the errant curls. A handful of wet paper towels wiped across his face. It was the best he could do under the circumstances and he decided that he really hated it. At least the sterile cleanliness of the Imaging Chamber helped keep his clothes clean, if not well pressed. The leather pants fared pretty well, but his shirt needed intense help from an iron.

Going back into the main section of the Imaging Chamber he pulled the handlink out of his pocket. "Okay, Zigs, what time is it now?"

"For whom?"

"Both, either, I don't care. Don't give me grief, okay? I feel lousy and I don't want to play games with you."

"You have been asleep for five hours. It is now 8:30 PM. Dr. Beckett's time is 3:15 AM. Are you feeling any better?"

"Concern all of a sudden?"

"You seem to be suffering from PTSS - Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome."

Al knew about the syndrome. It had become the pet cliché diagnosis of the shrink set. Anyone who had been in Vietnam had heard about it, sometimes to distraction, but he never considered himself a victim. "I know what PTSS is. What makes you think I got PTSS?"

"Your nightmares." A recording of Al repeating his name, rank, and serial number was played for Al to relive while awake. "You apparently dreamt you were back in Vietnam and being victimized by the Viet Cong. I concluded you were reliving a beating in which your left leg and several ribs were broken. Is that so?"

The memory flooded back into his consciousness and his stomach clenched and tightened until he felt like throwing up. "What I dream is my business, not yours. Where's Sam?"

"Dr. Beckett is asleep"

Al let out a sigh. "Damn, I promised Macy I'd be waiting for her. Damn it. You should have gotten me up."

"You left no such instructions, Admiral."

He went back to the medicine chest and opened it. One package of crackers and a juice box were left. He started talking to himself, "Okay, time to ration." He tore the plastic wrapper off the crackers and ate two of the six pieces inside. Punching a hole in the juice box, he took a few sips to wash down the sticky peanut butter. "Man, if I didn't like peanut butter before, I sure hate it now." He yawned and put his right hand to his head to push the pain back inside it. "Ziggy, center me on Macy Haller."

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	7. Chapter 7

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Seven**

Macy was asleep in her bed with copy of The Velveteen Rabbit still in her hands. Al watched the child sleep and then decided to wake her. He had said he would come back any time of the day or night. Sitting on the floor next to her bed, he began to sing, "You're my best girl and nothing you do is wrong. I'm proud you belong to me." Macy's eyes fluttered open and a smile grew. Al smiled back and kept on singing, "And if a day is rough for me, having you there's enough for me. And if someday another girl comes along it won't take her long to see that I'll still be found just hanging around my best girl."

The smile stayed on her face. "Really?"

"Sure thing. I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I fell asleep and lost track of the time. Will you forgive me?"

She looked deep into his eyes. "You're my only friend."

Al wanted to pick her up and console her. That not being an option he said, "Let's go into the front room. No one will hear us there."

Macy climbed out of bed still holding her book and snuck quietly with Al to the front room. They sat down. Al's burned hand was shaking where he held it inside his shirt. Macy looked at him as she asked, "Does it hurt much?"

Never lie to kids. It was the only instinct Al had for children, but he couldn't admit the depth of the pain even to himself. "Yeah, well, it hurts, but it's going to be fine." He pointed to the book. "I see your father brought you the book I asked him to get."

"He's not my father."

"You're right. Your real father will be home very soon, but you know, the man who looks like your father, he's a real nice guy."

"I suppose. Why did you want me to have this book?"

He took a deep breath. "Have you tried reading it?"

She looked up at Al with a child's gaze. It was amazing how she had two completely different faces, one totally childlike and the other, sad and distant. "It's a little hard."

"Can you read it to me?" Macy opened the book to the first page.

The front room was not very splendid. In fact, it housed the family's food freezer and some general clutter. There wasn't anything really interesting there except for a charming, if completely bizarre, scene. Admiral Alberto Michelangelo Calavicci, former astronaut, hologram and time traveler was sitting on the floor next to almost five year old Macy Haller reading one of the most charming tales of childlike love. Their quiet time together was filled with gentleness and deep caring and a tale of a stuffed toy rabbit.

They didn't hear Sam's quiet steps and Sam made sure he didn't interrupt the pair. Macy held the book as Al read aloud. His dark, smoky voice had a soothing quality to it. "Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real, shabbiness doesn't matter."

Al had to stop and take a few deep breaths. He wasn't well. Sam could see him struggle to stay in control of his weakening body. Macy looked at her Sebastian. "Are you Real now? I mean I love you. And even else if no one can see you, I know you're Real."

With a softness and tenderness he usually reserved only for his daughters, Al said, "I will always be Real. Even if I go away and never see you again. I'm Real and I love you, too."

"But the Boy could hold the Rabbit. I can't touch you at all."

Sam tried to figure out how Al was going to worm out of this one. With the ease of a practiced parent Al said, "Can you touch sunlight?"

Macy understood Al's question and in wonderment and awe whispered, "No, I can't touch sunlight." Her eyes grew ten times in size and the child was reborn in her soul. "You're Real, Sebastian. You'll always be Real." She reached out to hug Al, but her little arms ended up wrapping around herself. The action made all three people laugh and Sam was discovered in the background.

Knowing that Macy didn't completely trust Sam, Al spoke first, "My old friend, Luke. Good to see you, buddy. We were just reading."

"So I heard. What a wonderful story. I don't ever remember hearing it before."

Al was still wistful and a memory of his own childhood came back to him, "It was one of Trudy's favorites. I used to read it to her all the time."

Macy was curious, "Who's Trudy?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat that always came with memories of the first special girl in his life, Al told Macy, "Trudy was my sister. She was so beautiful."

"Where is she now?"

Never lie to kids. He really believed that and he followed through with it despite the new pain it added to his fever and burned hand, "She's dead. She died a long time ago." It was a long time ago, but in Macy's timeline, it had only been four years. Trudy died the year Macy was born."

She saw the hurt in Al's bloodshot eyes. "She was Real too, wasn't she?"

For the first time in years, Al smiled at recollections of his mentally retarded sister. "Yeah, she was Real and she'll never go away from me, ever."

Macy stood up and bounced up and down, "Me either! Me either! I'll never go away from you. I promise!"

Sam took her hands in his and took up the cry, "Me either!" After a few bounces, they both fell in a pile on the floor next to Al and laughed. It was a sight that made all of them laugh harder and a moment that all three purposefully etched into their memories. Not a one of them wanted to forget what being Real truly meant. Hologram or three dimensional, the only reality worth consideration was love.

With the three of them still on the floor, Al took a slow trembling breath. "Macy, it's time for you to go back to bed. I'll be here in the morning. I'm not going to leave your apartment tonight like I did earlier, so I'll be here. I promise you."

"We didn't finish reading the story."

"We will, but not now. Go back to bed."

The child planted a kiss in the air next to Al's face. The action made Sam grin with delight. It was so open and free. Then she planted a kiss on Sam's face. "Goodnight." She danced out of the room and left the men to their business.

Sam looked at the door. "You know, she's finally looking like a child again. What is this magic you have, Calavicci? I am very impressed."

Al couldn't tell if Sam was being snide or sincere so he chose not to react with anything more than a shrug. "She's a terrific little kid."

"You really have talent with children. I'm serious." Talking about kids wasn't helping. Sam tried to change the subject in order to get Al thinking positively. He had to keep Al concentrating on positive things. "Things are looking good for Sorensen, aren't they? What does Ziggy have to say?"

Al pulled the handlink from his pocket and placed it on his lap. He programmed it for Sorensen's odds. "Yeah, he's dropped down to a 32 possibility of willing himself to death, so I guess your work isn't done yet."

Macy decided she didn't want to be left out of the party. She made her way back to the front room and stayed out of sight.

"My work? Without you there, it wouldn't have happened. You know, this leap is more yours than mine. I feel like I'm along for the ride. Sorensen needs _you, _not me." There was no response and the animation Al had when Macy was present had disappeared. It was as if he gave himself permission to look as bad as he really felt. Sam tried another line of questioning, anything to keep Al awake and alert. "Are you doing okay? How's the hand? I can see it shaking."

With a dark resignation, Al brought out the quivering burned and infected appendage in front of Sam. Any kind of examination was better than none. Sam's stomach knotted up when confronted with the dying hand. "God, Al, that has to hurt like hell."

"Well, I've had worse." It was almost the truth. "It's starting to smell dead. There's gangrene in there somewhere."

Sam looked at Al and Al looked back. Their eyes had a conversation using no words. The love between the two men was genuine, but not a subject for discussion. It wasn't Al's way and Sam would also admit that, while he gave voice to being free with his emotions, some things were just not talked about. They knew they had a stronger bond than even the best of brothers could have and nothing would break it.

A pale, fevered face turned itself to the floor. After taking a few deep breaths, Al quietly said, "So," and he breathed again, "How did the Sox do today?"

Sam turned his face to the floor as well, "They won. Three to nothing."

"Good. I always was a south-sider."

Another silence followed. Neither man daring to look at the other. Al had tried his best to diffuse the seriousness of the situation, but it didn't work. Each time traveler's quick mind and ready tongue were just looking for the right thing to say, the right words to make them get on with things, but it wasn't happening.

Sam had seen tears in Admiral Calavicci's eyes only a few times. He certainly had never seen him cry, that he could remember, but there, on the floor of a nondescript room, in a holographic world, a single silent tear fell from Al's eye, disappearing into thin air, terrifying Sam far more than any scream of pain could. Using his good right hand, he wiped his face in a typical gesture. "Geez, what brought that on? Sorry, Sam, I don't feel too good."

Figuring that getting practical was the best way around his and Al's uncomfortable situation, Sam said, "Yeah, I can tell. What can we do about it?"

With an uncharacteristic sound of defeat Al mumbled, "I don't know, Sam. I just don't know. Gooshie and Lillian are working on it."

It was at times like this that the holes in Sam's memory seeming like gaping open wounds. He knew that he had the knowledge to solve the problems in the Control Room, but right now, he had no idea what to do and the powers beyond the Control Room, the powers that leaped him around, those powers were sitting this one out. There was only solution that seemed viable. "Can't they just break through the door? I mean, it can't be that strong or thick. You pass through it pretty easily."

Al's eyes fought to stay open. "No. You, me, Ziggy, the Imaging Chamber and the Waiting Room, we're all connected. If one part breaks down, I might not be able to get back here for you."

"What if you die? For sure you'll never get back here. Tell them to break in."

"No. Lillian and Gooshie, they'll figure it out. They're good, Sam, real good. Verbena, too. I bet they're all there working on this." He tried shaking his head to help him stay awake, but the dizziness that followed told him it was not his best idea. "How can I be functional when Macy's around and the minute she leaves, I turn into a slug."

"The kid energizes you somehow. Kids can do that, so I've heard. What does Ziggy have to say about Macy? Does she still commit suicide in, what, 23 years?"

A few more punches into the handlink and an answer came through, but it was obviously one that upset Al. "It can't be. Ziggy, you sure about this?"

"What's wrong?"

"Tomorrow she falls off the roof of a frat house down the block, fractures her skull and her two vertebrae in her neck. She dies in three days. God, Sam, we have to stop her from falling. I don't want her to die." Al's agitation was developing into hyperventilation, "Sam, we have to stop it. I don't care if Ziggy says we're not here for her. Something's gone wrong and it's probably my fault. We can't let her die. Sam, help me."

Sam had heard those words before, but when. It wasn't Al that said them. He did. And a flashback reminded him of the moment back in Vietnam when saving Tom. Sam asked Al to help him and by doing so, Al condemned himself to years of hell as a prisoner of war. Now, Al wanted help and Sam wasn't about to let him down. "I'll stay with her tomorrow, all day. I won't let her get near those houses."

"You have to meet with Sorensen. If you don't help him, you won't leap." The handlink slipped from his lap and dropped onto his diseased hand. He shuddered with the shock of pain that shot through the hand, arm and finally into his brain. "No. I'll stay with her. You go finish your leap. That may give us some time to play with." Never sure of how much Sam remembered, Al was ordinarily less open with information about the Project. "Usually we have some free time between your leaps. Sometimes as long as three or four weeks. Most times it's seven, eight days. So, you have to complete your job. That way Lillian and Gooshie will have some time to work on getting me out of this refrigerator. Damn, it's cold in here."

"I wish I had some ideas."

Another silence filled the air. Al accessed the handlink again. "I guess I earned the headache. I'm running at over 103. If I get some sleep, it'll go back down, won't it?"

"Possibly." Through the shirt and jacket, Sam saw Al's hand and arm shaking. "Sleeping may help that seizure stop, too."

Al looked at the twitching. "It's been like that since I woke up. I'd almost forgotten about it. That's nerve damage, huh?"

"It's hard to say for certain. Could be the fever you're fighting." Al had closed his eyes. "I'm going to let you get some sleep. Rest is important. You want me to stay? It's no problem."

Bewildered eyes looked up at Sam. "Why is Ziggy doing this? Why would Ziggy want me dead? That's what this feels like. I know my egress code. I know I input it right. Why is she trying to kill me?"

The idea that Ziggy was out to kill Al hadn't crossed Sam's mind. "Kill you? You're getting paranoid, Al." and before Al could answer him Sam filled in the next line, "I know, how do I think you got to live so long? She's a computer. She can't do anything she's not programmed to do."

"She's programming herself, Sam. It's happened before and she's got an ego bigger than yours and mine together."

Sam grimaced, "That big?" He got the result he wanted, a small laugh from Al. "Good. You had me worried." Al kept the smile, a real smile. "I don't know what to say. Ziggy is still only a computer."

"You're wrong there, pal. Ziggy grew up. She's more than you ever programmed her to be and she'd done a lot of it on her own. I think the only person who'll be able to figure this mess out is Verbena. The way I figure it, Ziggy is nuts."

Now a smile crossed Sam's face. "A computer can't be nuts even if does have an ego bigger than yours and mine together."

"You're wrong, Sam, real wrong." Al's eyes closed. He was defeated and ready to give up, except Al Calavicci never gave up in his life and he wouldn't let it happen now - no matter how much he wanted to just let fever and infection consume him and take him away from the cold Chamber, away from the throbbing pain in his head and body and ease him into death. "I'm not going back to the Imaging Chamber." He curled up on his side, put his good hand under his head and tried to sleep.

Sam didn't have the heart to leave his friend alone, even if he couldn't do anything for him. Maybe just knowing someone was there would give Al some ease of pain. Then it came to him, the one thing Al loved, but that his masculine pride would never admit to, being sung to. It was an odd quirk in a man that was used to all the evils in the world. Sam sat and quietly began their song. "To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare not go. . . "

Upon hearing the words and music that fed their dreams of time travel, Al gratefully and with a glimmer of hope, fell asleep. Sam soon followed and Macy, who had listened to the entire conversation from just out of the line of sight, walked to her room slowly and with great questions in her head. Who were these men? What was really happening? Where did Sebastian come from and why did the other man call him "Al?" Why was she going to fall off the frat house tomorrow and how did they know?

Back in her room she whispered to herself, "If I fall off the frat house roof, then I can be dead." She started to smile. "Then I can be dead and stay with Sebastian."

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Verbena sat in her office monitoring the Imaging Chamber. It was always hard to figure out what was going on when you only heard one side of a conversation, but it was clear that Al was in the throes of defeat and he considered her skills as a therapist his only hope for survival. Her only question now was how to get a computer lie down on a couch. She made her way out to the Control Room. Lillian and Gooshie were working hard, but the lack of sleep and the total frustration over not being any closer to a solution only made their tempers flare.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's in the programming, Gooshie. The hardware is in perfect order."

"It's my fault? Is that what you're saying?"

"Look at the monitor. The Admiral is going to die if you don't take care of the programs Ziggy's writing."

Gooshie was beyond reasoning at this point. Verbena intervened. "Gooshie, Lillian, come on now. When did you last get sleep?" Lillian's red eyes and Gooshie's tight lips told her the answer. "Right now, you have to get some rest. The Admiral is asleep. So is Dr. Beckett. There's a small eye in the storm. Take advantage of it."

The look of apology in their genius eyes was childlike and genuine. "Come on, Gooshie. Let's get go take a nap. We can come back in a little while." Gooshie was led off by his associate.

Verbena wandered back into her office. She was grateful she decorated it in something that wasn't Fermi white, like most of the other rooms. It was a warm place that made her comfortable and she hoped it made her clients comfortable as well. Right now, the ambience was going to be lost. Ziggy could care less about the furnishings and Ziggy was the next patient. Verbena sat back and in her mind - the one place inside the Project's wall she figured Ziggy couldn't infiltrate - worked out her plan of attack.

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When Al finally woke up, Macy was sitting with him once again wearing her red dungarees and yellow blouse. It was 9:35. She watched his eyes flutter open and was troubled upon seeing the reddened corneas. "The white part of your eyes match your pants."

He was sweating, but the fever hadn't broken. An unwelcome stench came from his burned hand. Seeing Macy, he painfully shoved his fist into a pocket. He was glad she couldn't smell the dying tissue. "My eyes match my pants?"

"The white part is red. How come?"

"Sometimes blood vessels burst in your eye and make them red. It's not dangerous and it doesn't hurt. I hope you're not scared."

"Maybe just a little, but I won't be for long."

An odd response, but one he thought he understood. Changing the subject he thought he'd bring up the day's agenda. "So, what are you doing today?"

She didn't want to confess overhearing Sebastian/Al and Sam and she sure didn't want her buddy to know she was going to jump off the frat house roof. "I don't know."

"Why don't you make it a quiet day? I want to spend a lot of time with you and I'm kind of tired. I have a little temperature."

"We can finish reading my new book. Then you go back to sleep." She pulled the book from behind her. "Can you read with me?"

He didn't want to alarm Macy with his knowledge of her fall and he liked the idea of staying put. "Sure. Where did we leave off?"

Macy opened the book to the last paragraph Al read to her. She pointed to the next line and Al read, "And then, one day, the Boy was ill. His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the little Rabbit when he held him close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned all night, and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit sat guard and never stirred. It was a long weary time, for the Boy was too ill to play, but he knew the Boy needed him." Al stopped reading and closed his eyes. He could feel the fever in his body growing. How much higher could it get?

"Al, are you okay?" Macy knew she had slipped bad when she called him Al instead of Sebastian, but he didn't notice.

He tried to cover his weakness, but he didn't do a very convincing job. "I'm okay. I'm a little bit like the Boy. Maybe I'm too sick to play, too."

Macy closed the book. "You don't have to read any more. We can just sit here." Her face flashed a look of discovery as she chirped, "I know. You can sing me the song you sang me last night. I liked that song."

Al had to think for a few seconds. Then it came back to him; it was from Mame. It was a sweet song that he had sung to Beth. There was a second verse that she used to sing to him. He worked out the gender bending in his head and then he sang, "I'm your best beau." He comically puffed himself up as much as he could for the next line, "I'm handsome and brave and strong. There's nothing we two can't face. If you're with me, whatever comes, we'll see that trouble never comes. And if someday when everything turns out wrong, you're through with the human race, come running to me for I'll always be your best beau."

A sadness covered her sweet child face. "Will you always be my best beau?"

It occurred to Al that "Beau" was an odd word. "Do you know what a beau is?"

"It's a boy that likes a girl."

Not a bad explanation. "Yeah, that's it."

"You didn't answer my question? Will you always be my best beau?"

And like so many times before, Al wanted to hold Macy in his arms and comfort the melancholy child. He wanted to keep her safe and warm. God know that he had enough body heat to spare at the moment. "I will always be your best beau. I promise. No matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."

"Promise me that trouble won't ever come again."

The reference to the song lyric was too specific. "What kind of trouble, Sweetheart?"

She wanted to tell him. Promises were very important things. She didn't want to lie to Sebastian, but she had no choice. With a conscious full of shame and a face as innocent as can be she said, "There's no trouble. I was just wondering."

Another bolt of fever shot through Al and he let out a groan of pain. Dizziness started overtaking him. The room was turning into a twister and he was in the center of it watching everything spin. "Boy, I feel rotten. I'm sorry, Macy."

They both were startled by the sound of the doorbell. With the movements of an automaton, Macy stood up. "That's Uncle Mario. We have to go for a walk."

He had to decide. If he went with Macy and her Uncle, then he'd have to expend energy that he didn't have to spare, but he knew he had to keep an eye on her because of the fall. But he was her uncle. She'd be safe with him. Looking into her suddenly vacant eyes he said, "Sweetheart, I don't want you to leave your Uncle's side, okay? I need some rest, but I'll come find you in an hour, okay?"

There was no reaction, nothing at all. Macy simply left the room. Al looked at the door as she walked out and kept staring at it. Something was abruptly wrong and he couldn't figure it out. His brain was so fried with fever even spelling his name seemed like a monumental task. Exactly how many Cs were in Calavicci? But Sam was finishing up with Sorensen and Macy was safe with her uncle. It was okay to take a bit of a nap. After all, there was nothing he could do.

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	8. Chapter 8

This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like **Street Kid**, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, **Macy** is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

**Macy - Chapter Eight**

Macy held her Uncle Mario's hand as they walked south down the busy street. No words were spoken. They came to Roosevelt Road. It was a busy street, three lanes in each direction. Macy's mother and father told her several times that she could only cross the street with an adult. It was too dangerous to go alone. She believed her parents. Cars zoomed around corners and she was still small. They couldn't see her, but Uncle Mario could be seen and he held her tightly as they crossed.

Together they walked west on Roosevelt. The houses here were two and three flats and mostly deserted and burned out like the buildings behind her own home. Halfway down the block was a red brick two flat. A covered stairway on the side led to the basement. Mario knocked on the door. Another man answered. He was a lot younger than Mario and he smiled at them, welcoming them inside.

Macy hated this house. She hated everything that happened there. She hated her uncle and the younger man, but there was nothing she could do. She knew the routine, but today would be the last day. After all, Sebastian had given her the idea. After she was done here, she could go and jump off the frat house roof to die.

The men were deep in conversation. Off to the side was another man, someone Macy had never seen before. As he loaded film into his camera, he saw her staring. He continued preparing his camera paying no attention to the child that he was about to abuse.

Uncle Mario grabbed Macy's arm and in broken English said, "Why you wait? Get naked now and no talk. No talk."

She disrobed laying her play clothes on a chair. The red dungarees and yellow blouse reminded her of gentle Sebastian, her friend who promised that he would keep trouble away from her. She wished he was there to make the next hours disappear, but she hadn't told him about her uncle. She had told no one. Uncle Mario swore that if she told, he would have her parents and Mike killed and it would be her fault. At four years of age, Macy was the family protector and keeper of horrible secrets. It was too much responsibility for a four year old, but she had been doing it for nearly a year and no end was in sight.

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Al woke up abruptly in a drenching sweat. It was as if a nightmare had shaken him to reality, but he couldn't remember anything about the dream. He only knew that a horrible feeling of dread invaded every inch of his fevered and now very weak body. Something was wrong and he couldn't figure it out. He pulled the handlink from his pocket. "Ziggy, where's Sam?"

"Dr. Beckett is meeting with Karl Sorensen. The meeting will be successful. The odds are now 99.3 that Mr. Sorensen will survive and become a professor of Literature."

"Where's Macy?"

"She is with her uncle in a basement a few blocks from the Haller homestead."

As soon as Ziggy told him where the child was, Al knew. His stomach knotted up even more. He knew. He knew and anger drove him to action. Standing up was harder than it should have been, but he got to his feet and barked at Ziggy, "Center me on Macy right now."

"Dr. Beckett is not here to assist Macy."

"I don't care what he's here to do. Center me on her or I swear when I get back, I'll pull the God damn plug on you!"

"That is an empty threat however I will attempt to center you on the child."

With that, Al blinked out of the front room of the Haller home and found himself in the basement with Macy, her uncle and the two men. What he saw made him feel even sicker than he already was. A hooded man thrust into his best girl, his Macy and the cameraman was taking pictures of the whole thing. The rapist called, "Take a break. I'm tired of fucking this little cunt. Hell, she's so small it's hard to fit my dick in there. I thought you stretched her."

The cameraman laughed, "Yeah, like you're hung that good."

Macy saw Al standing off to the side. She ran to the opposite corner and curled up on the floor in a ball. Her shame was too great. Al wanted to kill the men there and if holograms had substance the local morgue would have needed a month to identify the body parts, but he had no physical presence in Macy's world. All he could do was try to soothe the desolate child.

"Macy, sweetheart, look at me." She shook her head no. "Then just listen to me. You have to leave this place right now. Run away right now."

She whispered, still keeping her face from Al's, "I can't. I don't have any clothes on."

"It doesn't matter. Just get away and run home."

"No. I have to stay. It's okay. They're almost done."

"Sweetheart, it's not okay. What they're doing is terrible."

"I can't cross the street alone."

"I'll help you across the street."

She shouted, "No!" and the men turned to her.

Her uncle came over, walking through Al, and scolded her, "I said you no talk." He grabbed her hair and lifted her off the ground. She dangled limply as if she knew from experience that the more she fought, the worse it would hurt. After he dropped her, he said, "On your knees." She kneeled in front of him and as he unbuckled his pants and pulled down his zipper, Al screamed as loudly as he could. "Don't Macy. You don't have to do this. That son of a bitch!" But his words fell not on deaf ears, but on the ears of a child too scared and shamed to do anything other than what she was told.

Al needed help, help from Macy's reality. In his holographic state there was only one person who might be able to do anything and that was Sam. He called out to Macy, "Sweetheart, I promise you, I'll be back with help." He input a code and yelled, "Ziggy, center me on Sam, right now, damn it!"

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Sam sat on the lawn of the sanatorium with Karl Sorensen. By this time, they were just passing the time of day. Karl was interested in life again, but it wasn't Sam's work that turned the tide, it was Al's and Karl's.

"You know, I sat up last night and thought about our conversation. I wish I could meet your friend, the one who was a prisoner-of-war. You said every day something makes him want to give up, but for some reason he can't. I kind of feel like that now. I mean it helps to know you're not the only one. I'm still not sure I can survive this thing, but it's going to be easier to try."

"That's great, Karl, really great."

Sam saw Al blip into the scene. The look on the hologram's face was awful. Sam could see he'd been crying and that he was in great pain. "Sam, I need you now. Lose Sorensen fast. This is too important."

Karl wanted to talk, but now was obviously the wrong time. He looked from Al to Karl and finally interrupted his patient. "Karl, I hate to do this, but I'm running late. Do you think we could talk again later?"

There wasn't any problem with that. Karl shook Sam's hand in gratitude. "And say hello to your friend for me, okay?"

Sam returned the handshake, "Okay. See you later." Sam began to walk away from Karl. Al came up to him. "What's up?"

"God, Sam. It's ... Oh, God ..." Al crumpled to the ground.

"Al?" Sam got on his knees next to the hologram. "Al?"

"Sam, you have to go home. Macy and . . ."

"Is she still going to jump?"

"I don't know. I guess so. I would." He tried to catch his breath.

"What are you talking about?"

"You got to go to her. Her uncle, that Mario guy, he's pimping her, using her for chicken porn."

"What's chicken porn?"

"Pornography using children. Damn, what island did you grow up on?"

"Are you serious?" and as soon as the question left his lips, he knew the answer. There were certain things Al had no stomach for. Abuse and neglect of children was number one on his list. He had known neglect and he wouldn't tolerate anyone hurting a child.

"Sam, stop talking. Get in your car and go to her. Get her away from those assholes. They're raping her."

"Where is she?"

Looking to the sky Al yelled, "Ziggy, where's the house Macy's at?" In a few seconds Al relayed the message, "1306 Roosevelt Road, in the basement. Go Sam. Go now, please." The grief on Al's face made Sam wonder what hell Al was reliving now, but he didn't take time to think about it. He took off at a full run toward the parking lot. Al watched him fly and whispered, "Thank you." He took a few breaths trying to calm himself down and prepare for going back to the house "Ziggy, center me on Macy."

"Dr. Beckett will leap out of Luke Haller within three minutes."

"He can't. Macy needs him."

"His job here is finished."

"Damn you, Ziggy! Verbena, if you can hear me. Get to Haller quick. Tell him what's happening to Macy. He has to be prepared. He has to believe her when she tells on that scum. Tell him where she is. I don't care what rules we're breaking. They don't fucking matter! That child needs him! Ziggy, center me on the house!"

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Verbena listened in horror to Al's half of the conversation. She was already out of her chair when he addressed her specifically. Luke Haller was just on the other side of her door. In a flash, she was at his side. She administered the medication that would bring him out of his sedated state. "Come on, Luke, you have to wake up." His eyes blinked open. "Luke, can you hear me?"

With a yawn, he answered Verbena, "Sure can. Is it time to wake up from this dream now?"

She grabbed his shoulder. "Listen to me. We don't have much time here. This hasn't been a dream. You're going home real soon. You're going to be in your car and driving to 1306 Roosevelt Road. You daughter is there and she's being sexually assaulted by her uncle and another man. You have to help her. You have to believe what she tells you. You understand me?"

"What are you saying? Uncle Mario is raping Macy? That can't be."

"It is and you have to believe her."

Luke's anger made his normally pale face change to deep red. Mario raping his kid? It wasn't possible. "How do you know?"

"There's no time to get into it now. You just have to trust me and trust Macy."

The puzzled look on his face melted as he leaped back into his own body and the host body of Sam Beckett emptied out. Sam fell unceremoniously back onto the dais. Verbena finally noticed the tears on her face. This was one hell of a leap. She hadn't cried and agonized so much since coming to New Mexico. She could only pray that during the leap, Luke retained the information she gave him and that he'd act on it.

The second half of the prayer was for Al. His system was shutting down and it looked like Ziggy would win this one and the Admiral would die in front of her eyes, not 15 feet away.

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Al was back at the house on Roosevelt Road, but no one was there. "Ziggy, where are they?"

"I can no longer keep you in this timeline. Dr. Beckett has leaped."

"No! You can't do this to Macy. Listen, Ziggy, you've done some pretty amazing self-programming lately. Figure out a way for me to stay here in their timeline."

"To do so would jeopardize your ability to return to your own timeline. You would exist in holographic form in that world for the remainder of your life."

"You and I both know I can't live much longer anyhow." He held up the gangrenous hand. "Have you seen this lately? Ziggy, I'm begging you, please. She's a baby. You don't what it's like. Keep me here with her."

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Back in the Control Room, everyone was riveted to the monitors. There was nothing more they could do. The situation was an immediate crisis and no one had any immediate ideas. Lillian was a weeping mess. Gooshie was holding back his own tears and Verbena was silently saying prayers. The technicians were in various states of shock. Things had never fouled up this badly before. A little girl was raped and nothing could not stop it. The Admiral was dying and nothing they did could stop that either. Dr. Beckett was in stasis, whatever that meant because no one could determine what happened to him when he was not in a host body. There was nothing to do, but wait.

From deep within the walls of the Project a rumbling began. The electronics that powered Ziggy were forcing more energy into the system. Gooshie and Lillian snapped into action and started collecting data from the monitors.

Out loud Verbena asked the question everyone silently had already asked, "What's happening?"

Gooshie watched a monitor of odd hieroglyphics dancing by. "She's writing new programs again. I've never seen programs like this before."

Lillian started making changes in the computer's systems.

"What are you doing?" Gooshie was yelling now because the noise level had become too intense for mere speech.

"She's asking for these changes and I'm giving them to her."

Verbena moved out of the way, back into her office. She turned on her monitors and watched as Ziggy somehow decided to work for the Admiral instead of against him.

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Al was having trouble standing. He fell to his knees, dropping the handlink. His left hand was a disaster. The smell of the rotting flesh was beyond his understanding and the pain was beyond his feeling. It was a dead hand and it was no longer his. Staring at it served no purpose. He needed the handlink and fished it off the floor where it lay unceremoniously. "Please, Ziggy. Keep me here with Macy." With that, Al was no longer at the house on Roosevelt Road. He was on the roof of a house three blocks away and then Macy standing far too close to the edge.

If he scared her, she might fall, so he moved slowly toward the opposite edge, slowly into her line of sight. It wasn't that hard to do. Slowly was the only way he could move. He was getting closer when she caught him with the corner of her eye.

"Go away, Al."

This time he heard the slip, "You know my name."

"I heard you and that man last night. He called you Al."

"Macy, come away from the edge. You could fall."

She smiled at him. "But I want to fall. You said I could be dead if I fell. I heard you tell the man. In three days, I can be dead."

Al's heart was racing and it wasn't only the fever he fought. "Macy, do you want to die because of your uncle?"

She craned her little neck over the edge. "It's a long way down."

"Way too long. Come back from the edge. We can talk first. Then if you want to fall off the edge, you can."

"Promise?"

He had no physical way of stopping her. Not even Sam could help her, if he was still around, was on his way to the house, not this empty building. "I promise." He moved to the ledge. "Can we sit down?" She sat and he did as well. "Macy, how long has your uncle been doing bad things to you?"

She kept her eyes glued to the roof and said nothing. Al knew what that meant. The little red head couldn't remember when he didn't rape her. "Your uncle is a bad man. What he did was wrong."

"No. I'm a bad girl. He says so and he's a grownup."

"I'm a grownup too and I say you're not a bad girl and you know what? Even if you were, he doesn't have the right to hurt you. He's a bad man."

She wanted to look at her friend and confidant, but the courage she needed to face him was just not there. Her little index finger scraped at the edge of a piece of roofing tile. "He said I was bad. That I liked doing things with him and the other grownups and, and, and that I could never tell anyone because they would hate me and then he would kill them. See, if I fall off the roof, then Ican be dead and he won't hurt me and my mommy and daddy and Mike won't be dead."

"Is that what he told you, that he would kill your family if you didn't do what he said?" She nodded. "Macy, look at me." She didn't move. "Sweetheart, you can do it. Look at me." Finally her tiny face, empty of all save despair, looked into his eyes. "I'm going to tell you something I never told anyone, ever. See, I never told because I was scared and ashamed. Now, everything I'm going to say is the truth. I wouldn't lie to you ever. Do you believe me?" There was no response, but Al kept on with his story. "When I was a little boy, I lived in an orphanage with other children. Do you know what an orphanage is?"

"A place for boys and girls that don't have mommies and daddies. Didn't you have a mommy and daddy?"

"Well, I did for awhile, but then they were gone and I had to live in the orphanage. There was a man there, a man that cleans up buildings. He was a bad man like your uncle. Sometimes, when there weren't many people around, he would take me to his room in the basement and then he'd lock the door. He made me do bad things with him, like your uncle makes you do. I hated it. I hated him, but he said he would kill the nuns that cared for me if I told. It was terrible. I wanted to cry all the time, but if I started crying, he used to hit me. He used to hit me so the marks didn't show, but they hurt so bad. I bet they hurt almost as much as it hurts when your uncle grabs you by your hair."

Her eyes riveted on Al, her new friend who understood her pain and fear. He lived through it, too. "Why do grownups do things like that?"

"It's not all grownups. You have to know that. Most grownups are nice people and they don't hurt children, but there are some that do. I should have told the grownups around me what he did, but I was too scared. He said they wouldn't believe me if I told, but he lied, just like your uncle is lying. Your mommy and daddy will believe you. I know they will and they'll make him stop. Now, I said I wouldn't lie to you and I won't. It's not easy to tell. Some people won't believe you and you'll have to tell people you don't know. People like policemen and lawyers and maybe even a judge. That's so hard, but in your heart you'll know that you're telling the truth."

Macy's lower lip quivered and he wanted to embrace her, but he was still a hologram. Tears finally started forming in her little eyes. "Al, I can't do it. It's too hard."

He didn't know how much more time he had. The shake he heard in his breathing sounded like a death rattle to him. "Sweetheart, I may not be able to stay with you very long, but until I have to go, I'll be right by your side. I'll help you tell and if I have to go away, you can still talk to me and I'll hear you. I won't be able to answer you back, but I'll listen and I'll never let you be alone. I promise. Please, let's go back to your house and find your mommy. I bet your daddy is looking for you, too and you know what? It might even be your real daddy this time."

Her answer was earnest and sad, "No, falling off the roof is better."

"But I know what that's like, too." He closed his eyes so tight that the tears inside them were held back. "See, I tried it and nothing changed. It hurt so bad, but I didn't die and you know what? After I got better, the bad man still took me in his room, but it was even worse because he knew I didn't want to live anymore. If you die, your uncle won't care. He doesn't love you. Your mommy and daddy do. Mike does. So do I. Please, let's go back to your house."

"You'll come with me?"

"I'll stay with you as long as I can." Now it was his turn to avert his eyes. "Macy, I'm pretty sick. I feel real bad. I don't think I'll be here long. You need to remember I love you very much and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you if I could. You're so special to me."

She placed her real hand on his holographic hand. "Am I your best girl?"

He sang as best he could, "You're my best girl and nothing you do is wrong."

During his raspy refrain the emptiness inside the perfect little girl slowly filled with the faintest ray of hope and that was enough. She smiled. "I want to go home."

Al sighed in relief. Macy would live and her torment would get the chance to slowly dissipate. All he had left to do was get home with Macy for just a few minutes. Once her parents knew what was happening to her, he wouldn't be needed anymore. "Let's go, sweetheart."

The pair climbed down the steps of the old deserted building and walked through the alley back toward Macy's home. The walking was hard for Al. Each step jarred his dying arm and sent shocks of pain through his body, but this was the most important walk of his life and he knew it. From the other end of the alley they saw a car pull in. It was Luke Haller's. When the father saw his precious child walking alone in the empty alley, he stopped, got out and ran to her. "Macy! Macy, come here, honey."

She ran into his arms. "Daddy! Daddy, you're back! Sebastian said you would be. Daddy, please help me."

"What's wrong, honey?"

Macy looked at Al. He gave her a thumb up and winked. "You can do it, Macy. You're my best girl. You can tell him. Go on."

He looked so pale and faint. "Are you going away now, Sebastian?"

"I think so. Tell your daddy about your uncle. You'll be fine, now. I know. Give yourself a lot of time and you'll be fine. Remember, you're loved so much by a lot of people, especially me."

"Good-bye, Sebastian. I love you. I hope you feel better." Her tiny hand waved. She buried her face in her father's warm arms and began to cry out her story.

It was the right moment. Al punched out of her timeline using the handlink and once again he was in the Imaging Chamber. He moved off the silver disk, leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. "Ziggy, are you going to let me out of here? or do I get to die in this refrigerator?"

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And then there was no more pain. The intense fever was gone. He felt clean and cool, relaxed and somehow free. This must be death. All in all, it wasn't that bad, except for the fact he left Sam to roam from person to person with no help and his wife and children would be fending for themselves. He was trying to reconcile himself to the desertion when he heard a voice call his name, "Al? I know you're in there. The monitors tell me you're awake. Open up those big brown eyes, my sweet flyboy."

He followed orders and when he did, he saw the owner of the voice. It wasn't an angel, but then again, in his mind, it was. The voice belonged to his Beth. He stopped to bask in her beauty for a moment before he said, "I'm not dead?"

His voice sounded surprisingly thin and old, still she had to laugh. "Oh Al, you came awfully close. Don't ever do this to me again, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He was afraid to ask the next question, but he had to know. "Do I still have a hand?"

Beth had practiced all sorts of responses to that question, but none of them seemed adequate now. She gently touched his face, "I'm sorry, baby. It was full of gangrene. If we had a hyperbaric chamber, we would have tried to save some of it, but you spiked a fever at 105. We didn't have time. Your hand and part of your left arm is gone."

"My arm, too?"

"To just below your elbow."

Beth had tried to expect a myriad of reactions, but the one she got was the one she never considered. Al laughed. "Damn. That's why I can't smell it anymore. The stench was unreal."

"They're still disinfecting the Imaging Chamber."

He tried to pull himself up a little, but the weakness was insurmountable. "I want to see it. I want to see what's left of my arm." Beth hesitated, but he turned into an Admiral. "I have to see what's left. This is going to ground me, so the sooner I face it the better."

Beth raised the head of Al's bed and then pulled back the sheet and thin blanket covering his amputated limb. With his remaining hand, Al touched the bandaged stump. That was the right word, stump and it had an odd sound all of a sudden. The stump was his. His arm was amputated about halfway between his wrist and elbow.

Beth watched him explore the bandage. "You'll be fitted with a prosthetic as soon as you heal. In fact, I've already made some calls. When you're better and Sam's in stasis, we're going to Chicago. I have friends at the Rehabilitation Institute there. It's one of the best places for rehab in the world. You're going to do fine."

All of a sudden, a sick feeling panicked him, "How long have I been here? Has Sam leaped again?"

She patted his shoulder, "Don't worry. It's only been about 72 hours. Sam is still in stasis and Ziggy has figured out a way to predict the lengths of his stasis periods. She says we're okay for ten days."

"I'll be okay by then."

"No, sir. You will not be okay by then. You may feel a lot better, but your temp is still too high and your weight dropped another five pounds. You're 20 pounds shy of where you should be and skinnier than I am and I resent it."

"Your weight is perfect. Anyhow, you're taller than I am."

"Who isn't?" She got a chuckle out of him. "Listen up, babe. I know Sam will need you, but we have to make some kind of plan. You can't be in the Imaging Chamber alone for awhile. You also have to limit the hours you spend in there."

"Yeah, well we can talk about it. By the way, how did they get me out?"

"They didn't. Ziggy just opened up the door after you zapped back from being with Macy. You were pretty terrific with her. Telling her about yourself was the ticket. That had to be hard." He didn't answer and his non-response sent her a big message. The subject was not to be mentioned again, but she rarely listened to anyone, especially her husband. "Yeah, I know, Al. Don't talk about it. How can you give Macy permission to talk, but refuse to give yourself the same permission?" More non-response. "You are a playground for Verbena. Do you know that? And you don't want help. What kind of torture are you putting Dr. Beeks through?"

This time, the laugh was a tormented chuckle. "You have to know I'm so messed up that if I tried to unravel my psyche, I'd come apart."

It was a disturbing statement. Brushing back his curly hair she whispered gently, "My sweet love, what does that mean?"

"Some people have happy lives. Some don't. Once I accepted that I wasn't meant to be happy, I got happy. Go tell Verbena to work on that one."

Beth needed time herself to work on it. "Not right now. I'm too confused. Let me see if I can find you some food. Anything appeal to you?"

"I want a double cheeseburger with everything, fries and a double chocolate malt."

"What if we start you with a poached egg on toast and maybe, if you're a good boy, I'll let you butter the toast."

"A three-egg cheese omelet with a side hash browns and crisp bacon?"

"Two poached eggs on toast."

"You're not meeting me halfway here, Beth. You said I had to gain 20 pounds."

"Not 20 pounds of fat."

"Come on. The last food I had was a peanut butter cracker."

"You'll start with the poached egg. If your stomach handles the egg okay, then we'll consider something heavier. We have to get good food into you. The hypoglycemia isn't under control right now."

He'd forgotten the hypoglycemia. There was a silence and it was appropriate. Too much needed saying and words weren't really adequate. Al looked tired. He took a long, slow, deep breath. "When will there be an end? When will he be home?"

Beth took his right hand in hers. "He'll come home and you'll be here to welcome him."

"Sometimes I don't think I can do this anymore. I'm over 60. I've been eligible for the AARP for over ten years now. I get seniors' discounts. Someday, I won't be able to do this. Look what happened this time. It was too hard to keep going."

"This wasn't a normal leap, Al. You were sick in there, deathly sick. If Ziggy hadn't let you out, in about another hour or so, we'd be holding the wake right now. Do you have any idea how close you came to dying?" He gave her a look that answered very eloquently. "Okay, so it was a stupid question. The thing is, Macy is alive and doing very well and it's because of you."

His heart thumped loud enough to make the monitor blip out a short screech. "How could I forget Macy? What happened to her?"

She soothed his fears with a touch on his face. "She's fine. Her uncle was arrested and he squealed on his pals. The whole lot of them went to jail. Turns out they ran a huge child pornography ring. Macy was one of the lucky ones. Some of the kids were used in snuff films."

The ugliness in the world never failed to astound him. Even with closed eyes, the horror of Macy's young life remained. All he could was tell Beth, "I hope they hanged. All of them." The Admiral ached for the life Macy had. "I couldn't stop it for her, Beth. She was there and I watched them rape her and I couldn't stop it." He pulled away from her caress.

"You gave her the courage to tell. Al, that's what stopped it all for her and all the others." His head was shaking, denying his wife's testimony. "Because of you, Macy was able to stop her own abuse and the abuse of who knows how many other children. I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, be proud of me. I didn't have the guts to stop it when I was a kid, but a four-year-old little girl did. She's a lot stronger than I am."

Debating his courage would have to wait for a time when he might be open to seeing himself as he truly was. There was no way he would believe her right now. Knowing her husband a lot better than he knew himself, she smiled and told him, "Well, God knows she sings a lot better."

The smile returned. "Like that's an accomplishment." He wondered for a second and asked, "What's she doing now? Do we know?"

"She sings and plays the piano in her own jazz club. It's called **Sebastian's**." Touching his lips so adoringly she teased, "I wonder how she came up with that name." Her injured husband yawned and looked desperately exhausted. "In fact, her cousin Joey plays bass in her backup group. They cut a CD about a year ago."

"Thank God." He pushed his head into the pillow. "Beth, I'm tired. I want to sleep."

"Sleep, babe. I'll come back with some food in about an hour."

Beth lowered the head of the bed. As she exited, she turned off the lights. His body was lit only by the monitors keeping track of his vital signs and feeding him intravenous fluids and antibiotics. He looked so small and insignificant. It was not a true picture of the immense hero now waiting to face a new fight, learning to live without a hand. Beth thought for a moment and then determined that in light of the other fights he had faced and won, Al would come through it just fine.

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End file.
